


The Only Way Out is Down

by Avelera



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Hermann Gottlieb, Bickering, Canon-Typical Violence, Coma, Consensual Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dreamscapes, Drift Side Effects, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Hell, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inferno AU, Injury, Kissing, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Newton Geiszler Recovery Arc, Newton Geiszler is a Dork, POV Hermann Gottlieb, POV Newton Geiszler, Past Mind Control, Past Relationship(s), Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), Precursors are super dead, Rescue, Seduction, Stream of Consciousness, The Drift (Pacific Rim), Therapy, Trauma, Worried Hermann Gottlieb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-05-29 21:52:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 100,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15082496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelera/pseuds/Avelera
Summary: The invasion of the Anteverse was successful, and the Precursors have been destroyed, but Newt still hasn’t awoken from his coma and doesn’t respond initially to Drift attempts from Hermann to wake him.But when one day a connection is established, Hermann and Newt find themselves in a mingled mindscape that seems informed by Dante’s “Inferno”. Together, they pass through the Nine Circles of Hell, nine memories of Newt’s years under Precursor control in the hopes that doing so will free Newt from his own head.Yet questions linger: how much did the Precursors take from Newt, to what lengths will Hermann go to free him, and is the other even truly there, or merely a rabbit of the other's making, a product of wish fulfillment and fantasy that they’re chasing into the abyss?





	1. Canto I - Newt

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks is owed to my _amazing_ beta readers: unwittingcatalyst, skyhealer, and IDoNotBiteMyThumbAtYou. Honestly, without them this fic would not exist. At over 100,000 (!!) words long, written in such a short time, the struggle would have killed me if not for their kind words and encouragement. They are also _amazing_ fic writers in their own respects, so please check out their stories as well. 
> 
> This weird little idea bit me right after my first viewing of Pacific Rim: Uprising and wouldn't let go. I didn't know _why_ I needed to combine Pacific Rim with Dante's Inferno, but by Jove it needed to be done, and here we are. 
> 
> This story has a playlist you can listen to here (though may contain some spoilers) [on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/athena799/playlist/3LIAYCK1krFhKwWFuKuVwg?si=jYjgDB4UQSO2BGWz3hVgQw).
> 
> I do hope you enjoy. Each chapter will contain a quote from Dante's Inferno, very carefully chosen. It will also contain a recommended song for the chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _While I was returning to the depths, one appeared, in front of my eyes, who seemed hoarse from long silence. When I saw him, in the great emptiness, I cried out to him ‘Have pity on me, whoever you are, whether a man, in truth, or a shadow!’_  
>  _Inferno_ by Dante Alighieri, Canto I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One song per chapter: "Call Me Newt" by Ramin Djawadi, but of course.

There was a book Newt read back when he was fourteen, probably in undergrad. It must have been in undergrad, it was the last time he was assigned books to read instead of picking his own all, “ _Oh,_ we need to round you out as a person. Oh, heavens no, you can’t just take another graduate-level biology class, Newton. You must _learn other things._ ” 

And ok, this one hadn’t been so bad because the illustrations in it were _rad_. Flying monsters, multi-headed demons, that one of the guy holding up his own _head_ like a badass, and it was only after he started the thing he learned it was all poetry so it took him two hours to read instead of just the one, and lots of it was just _boring_ , talking about how this or that lord or pope or whatever was now suffering for eternity because of stuff no one even _remembered_ anymore.

It just seemed kind of unfair, that’s all. Some of the sins weren’t even that _bad_ , and damn did those Medieval poets really have a thing for torturing people almost as much as they didn’t seem to mind a guy putting himself into his own story where he got to meet his favorite author and get told how wonderful he was through the whole thing and… 

Anyway. Yeah. Newt didn’t know why he was thinking of it. He hadn’t thought a lot besides, _oh shit_ in a while, mostly accompanied by a lot of thoughts that were _way worse_. But here in the void, you had time to think. It was the one luxury that wasn’t going out of style and for some reason Newt wasn’t completely sure of, he was thinking about a book he’d read on one disappointing afternoon over thirty years ago.

The book was Dante’s _Inferno_ , the journey into Hell, and Newt still remembered the first line. Even before any of the monsters showed up, _that_ was the bit that had stuck with him.

 _Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, ché la diritta via era smarrita._  Halfway through the journey of our life, I found myself in a shadowed forest, for the straightforward path was lost.

Back then, the book introduction said thirty had been the midway point in people’s life, which made sense if you think about it, with people dying at the ripe old age of childbirth. Sixty was probably stretching it. If it was written today, Dante probably would have been older, like say… forty-five.

Just like Newt.

The year was 2035 but he only knew it because of the glimpses he could see of the world around him, the calendar on his phone. He had turned forty-five this year and barely felt it, or felt the passage of time at all for ten, except in fits and starts going too fast or too slow or _holy shit it’s 2030, what have the Precursors_ done _to me?_

On the plus side, he could probably expect to live to ninety, if he wasn’t crushed or eaten or otherwise _consumed_ by a Kaiju or, hey, hit by a bus crossing the road.

Yeah, like They’d ever let him get hit by a bus. Nah, the Precursors were too careful for something like that. Couldn’t risk him ending up in a hospital where he could pull back control, just for a second, and scream enough crazy nonsense that someone would lock him up and keep him away from Shao Industries forever.

He had tried that, once, only for Liwen to send one of her many assistants to bail him out that evening, with a stern word about wasting her time, then it was back to work. Back to Their work and it was a long time before They let him out again.

So the plus side… or maybe it was the downside… was he had a lot more years ahead of him. Not that he’d get to appreciate them.

Had he mentioned the shadowed forest? Maybe he should have given that Dante guy a bit more credit instead of endlessly mocking him in his head for being _such_ a Mary Sue. It wasn’t exactly a forest, but it was definitely shadowed and hey, here he was at the center of his life, far from the path of everything he was, or had been, or wanted to be. Far from everyone he loved even though they were probably in the next room over, watching his body bound to some chair like he was Hannibal Lecter, with no idea if he was even there and it’s not like he could tell them, nope. The Precursors were in control now, had been ever since his little stunt of telling Hermann _I’m sorry, it’s not me, they’re in my head Hermann they’re in my_ ** _head_**. They’d pushed him so far down into himself that he doubted he’d be seeing anything but his own insides ever again, much less the next forty-five years of his theoretical life.

It was kinda cool if you thought about it in the abstract, of being locked out of your own eyeballs by eldritch creatures from another plane of existence, but cool in a way like seeing a tiger from the inside might be cool. Had he seen the inside his own skull on the way down? When another creature pushed him into himself, into the dark, with only glimpses like Plato’s shadow puppets dancing on the walls, a flash of familiar faces, an empty apartment, a brain floating in yellow formaldehyde _no not again not again I can’t take it, it can’t get any worse_ , his hands locked around Hermann’s throat and finding out just _how much worse_ things could be before he was ruthlessly, hopelessly quashed like a bug in his own body?

Dante saw people who were still alive in his version of Hell and had been alive himself. There was something to that too. Newt was _pretty sure_ he was alive, by the lowest possible definition of _alive_ which was having a pulse and consciousness and being physically still in a body that was technically his own. Even if “his” was a shaky definition at best, being a squatter in the basement of his own house while someone threw a raging party upstairs, or more like an evil corporation rented the place out so they could _destroy the world_ from his proverbial living room.

He was probably still alive. Which brought him back to _halfway through the journey of our life,_ back to the shadows of the proverbially haunted forest that surrounded him and yeah, he could definitely agree with that next line, _for the straightforward path was lost_.

Lost.

Newt tried not to think of that one too often but it was already in his head. _Lost_. Because he had no idea how to get out of here. There was no playbook for clawing your way out of your own subconscious. Not a single one of his PhDs or post-docs had prepared him for being forced down into the depths of his own being, years rushing by too fast to grasp onto. Without even being in a coma where people could, say, know you were in trouble or at least pull the damn plug. “He” was still walking, talking, and being an utter _asshole_ to his friends with that _stupid_ vest and those _stupid_ sunglass and god, why couldn’t _anyone see_ that wasn’t him?

The last he had seen, Their plan was going into motion. They might have killed everyone.

They _had_ killed Mako.

They might have killed Hermann. Fuck, he had no idea if They’d killed Hermann and that shouldn’t make him feel _worse_ than knowing untold thousands of innocent, faceless people had died in Sydney. Maybe he did deserve all this because it did. Maybe he didn’t deserve to get out of here, but the point was all moot since he didn’t know _how_.

That’s why he’d ended up plumbing his own memories for something, _anything_ to give him an idea and that’s how he’d happened on that book from when he was a precocious twelve year old trying to get an assignment out of the way so he could get back to dissections. Who’d have thunk they’d be right about the whole liberal arts enrichment stuff broadening your horizons?

_Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita…_

Anyway, he was tired of sitting in his own proverbial head sobbing into his proverbial hands about what he had not been strong enough to stop in the first place, and the people he missed, and how alone he’s been for ten _years_ , and Hermann, who was another category entirely from the other people he missed, like a Category _5_ , never-before-seen levels of huge and powerful _missing_.

He was tired of looking up into the proverbial blackness of the inside of his own damned soul if he even believed in damnation, and why was it still so hard to believe in a God in a world with Kaiju and Precursors and the closest thing to _demons_ anyone has seen outside Dante’s book? And maybe he was onto something, maybe Dante _had_ seen them, some Category .05 from the Dark Ages.

He was tired of looking up and no longer seeing a way out, not a sliver of light to illuminate the way back up into consciousness, into control of his own brain. They’d locked him out. There was no straightforward path that way. He felt like something was tugging on him, and maybe it was just wishful thinking, but he was ready to listen. He was ready to get the hell out of here.

He stood at the center of his life, darkness surrounding. _Dante, my man, you ridiculous, hopeless self-insert writing Virgil fanboy, I hope you were on to something_. And Newt pushed back the sleeves of his proverbial, metaphysical shirt to reveal tattoos that metaphysically weren’t there ( _and were always a tally, a memory, “look what we survived”, a tribute to the fallen on both sides, a trophy, a triumph_ ) and squared his shoulders.

This was Hell. This was the center of his life. And if anyone, anywhere had ever been right, much less a poet dead seven hundred years ago, then Newt knew this:

The only way out is down.

 

* * *

 

Which was easier said than done.

There was no sense of _place_ in the mental hellscape that was the inside of his mind. The only consolation, if it could be called that and not an extra helping of fridge horror, was that he really had no idea how much time was passing outside. His every thought could encompass milliseconds, stretching out to excruciating infinity, or his thoughts could be glacial drift and he was already old, sitting in a decrepit body in a padded cell while the Precursors raged and spat like the girl from _The Exorcist_. Who knew? 

But Newt couldn’t just sit here, hovering _ex nihilo_ like a god in space before it all began, even if he believed in any of that, and Hawking hadn’t disproved the whole idea of "God" decades ago.

Or maybe that was it. Maybe things needed to get a little _godlike_ up in here, someone needed to snap their fingers and say—

“ _Fiat lux,_ motherfucker! Let there be light!”

_Yikes, ok bad idea, bad idea_. Newt squinted against a black mindscape gone eyeball-stabbing bright, the rush of pain followed quickly by a rush of euphoria. Pain! Light! 

“Holy shit. Holy shit, I said holy shit. Holy shit, I can talk. _Holy shit!_ ”

Yeah, it wasn’t a big change from the shadowy nothingness place but it was a start and as he scrunched his eyes shut, Newt thought, _Subconscious? Subconscious, is that you? Alright I’m gonna need a change of shirt, stat, and also a road out of here. You think you can hook a guy up?_

When New opened his eyes, his hands came up to feel bulky glasses over his eyes, and he looked down to see a totally not pretentious white shirt with a black skinny tie _much better_ than those stupid, sweltering vests.

He poked the glasses up the bridge of his nose and squinted. He needed something, anything, a clue would help, of how to get out of here. He’d take any suggestion he could get, even if it was from fucking _Dante_.

Newt squeezed his eyes shut, _come on subconscious, do your thing_. He felt a shift in the air. Progress? Good or bad he needed to look, needed to reach out, needed to _see_ what was waiting for him.

…And when he opened his eyes, Newt took in a sight before him that he hadn’t seen in _years_. Or maybe that _anyone_ had for that matter, apocalypse trashing anywhere pristine or idyllic and all. A gravel path, pale against pale sand, and in the distance a green hill, and he _knew_ he’d seen this all somewhere, this wasn’t exactly a “Geiszlerian” view. 

Between Germany, a couple places both called “Cambridge” and up and down the western and eastern Pacific coasts like a yo-yo, he’d hardly gone for walking holidays in the Italian countryside, that was more Hermann’s thing while griping about _Newton’s lack of culture_. But he kind of recalled it now, a painting he’d seen somewhere. Salvador Dali. _Canto I._

Yeah, Dali seemed the kind of guy to illustrate his situation, he’d give his subconscious that one. Eidetic memory had its uses. It was how he’d recognized the parallel Kaiju cell structure after only his second intact sample, six years apart. 

Ugh, he did _not_ want to think about Kaiju right now. And that alone he’d submit as evidence for how much the Precursors had fucked with his head.

So Newt began to walk. 

Gravel crunched beneath his feet and rose in his nostrils like chalk. The world was sunbaked and hazy, and wrack his very awesome brain as much as he could, he could not recall _anything_ quite like this. A sweltering Tuscan summer, cicadas chittering in the distance. The closest might have been Vegas? Cabo? He hadn’t spent a lot of time in the first except that one conference at Caesar's in the summer of 2017, when the wind had felt like walking into a hairdryer and most of the attendees hid out in the cold dungeons of the casinos. 

Then there was the ruins of Cabo, which had been a sweltering nightmare. Totally _not,_ as he had said aloud at the time like an _idiot_ , Candy Land, which had earned him a black eye and all the solitude from his team he could ask for, but in his defense, he’d been pumped to get his hands on those samples. Cabo had been its own hellscape of crushed bones and crushed cities and crushed bodies you didn’t want to look at too closely out of mingled respect and horror for the dead, which would have probably been the more acceptable observation at the time, but he’d never been good at silencing his intrusive thoughts or, as Hermann took every opportunity to observe, shutting the fuck up at all.

So where was this memory coming from, if not his own head?

It felt good, whatever or _wherever_ it was. When was the last time he’d felt the sun on his bare skin, not filtered through the lens of the Precursors, or the haze of work to be done with the PPDC before that to keep humanity from a permanent spot as second on the food chain after the Kaiju and/or extinct, _tiny apes, we barely knew ye_? 

He’d be more worried now about wasting his time with a pleasant summer stroll if this wasn’t the most progress he’d seen in— well he didn’t know how long. There was actual _stuff_ around him, that definitely counted as a win in Newt’s lifetime scoreboard of awesome, right after, oh yeah, _saving the fucking world._

If only that one hadn’t been scratched out by serving as a meat puppet for creatures trying to do the exact opposite. Thanks a _lot_ , Precursors. 

Right, he wasn’t going to think about that right now. The key was to stay _positive_.

Except that hill in the distance wasn’t moving no matter how far or long Newt walked. So that was troubling. Sweat trickled down the back of his shirt and the sun beat down on his face. He took off his glasses to wipe the sweat out of his eyes and to not have to look at the road that _wasn’t changing_ , how had he ever thought this place was better than the darkness? At least the darkness didn’t make him _sweat_. 

And what’s the point of all this, huh, subconscious? He could get the whole Inferno metaphor was what it had locked onto, for some reason, but that was a _cave_ they were going into the _earth_ like some sort of chthonic blood sacrifice cultists, he was supposed to have a _guide_. And if there was any guide that fit _Newt’s_ personal preference it wasn’t going to be some laurel-hatted, toga-wearing propagandist from before the birth of _Christ_.  There was only one person he’d allowed into his head before, present company-and-captors excluded, _so subconscious, if you’re thinking of tossing some company at me right now, may I suggest—_

“Newton?”

Bingo.

Newton turned at the familiar voice, and ok he wasn’t choked up, he was _not,_ at the sight of a mindscape-conjured version Hermann Gottlieb standing before him. He’d half expected to see the guy in a toga, after all, just to fit with the local aesthetic, but Hermann wore his usual charcoal gray suit, cane at his side with the tip biting into the gravel at their feet. The only thing out of place was—

“Dude, what’s that thing on your head?”

Hermann started, and pressed his hand to the silver band resting on his head like a crown, lights on the metal flashing red. Some kind of updated Pons? Newt barely had a chance to look at it before it vanished at Hermann’s touch, but for that brief instant, Hermann had looked like an utter tool, and was still the most beautiful sight in Newt’s admittedly limited world. 

“Newton, is that really you?”

Newt spread his arms. “In the flesh, baby. Proverbially. I’m experimenting with mindscapes, but I guess you’d know that, seeing as you're part of that. Part of me. Probably don’t know anything I don’t but if you _do_ maybe you can explain the Italian aesthetic thing going on because _I_ sure don’t know—”

But Hermann was looking at him like the final numbers on one of those four-board long equations that he’d spent weeks cursing over before lapsing into fixed, terrifying silence that even Newt wasn’t deliberately obnoxious enough to interrupt.

“Did you choose those clothes yourself?” Hermann said, _waaay_ more tense than that question warranted. If anything, _Newt_ should be the one being tense about an interrogation of his clothing choice, because _uh_ …

“Yeah? Look, I know you’ve never been a fan my fashion sense, and that’s probably true for the dream version of you. I mean, the feeling was mutual, but I gotta say the 'what are you wearing' thing is a little weird. Unless this is going to a 'they’d look better on my floor' place because _grrrrr_ , thank you, subconscious.” And ok this fake Hermann (Fake-mann? Her-fake?) was _good_ because that was exactly the Gottliebien huff of exasperation Newt had come to know and love.

“Newton, I need you to focus. Do you recall anything from the last years?” Hermann stepped in closer, looking as if he wanted to reach out and shake Newt by the shoulders but instead kept a firm hand on his cane. 

Newt half wanted to tell him he could just drop the cane, they were in a mindscape after all and this Hermann wasn’t even _real_  so he should at least be free of chronic pain. After all, Newt would like to think his subconscious wasn’t a _total_ asshole.

“If you’re asking if I know what the Precursors have been doing up on the third floor since they pushed me down to the basement then no, I don’t.” And ok, he really shouldn’t be dwelling on this subject if he wanted to keep going and not break down like a chump to an _illusion_ right now, because a lump was forming in his throat and growing by the second at the thought. He practically squeaked out, “I don’t even know if the real you is alive out there, is that what you wanted to hear? It’s not like they let me in on all their plans. I was a… an interface, a set of memories they wore like a goddamn human cosplay. A total _fucking_ tool. You think if I had _any idea_ how to get out of here to see what was actually going on I’d have made up a place like this to walk around in?” Newt almost wrenched his shoulder pointing out at the barren landscape around them.

Hermann’s eyes widened and he rocked back on his heels, head turning as he took in the chalk road and sandy ground, the suggestion of a green hill in the distance. “But these aren’t your memories, Newt. They’re mine.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, man? I’ve seen this picture before, I know I have, eidetic memory remember? Dali, which I might add is rather appropriate, considering…”

“You saw it on the wall of my office, as it was a souvenir from _my_ trip to the Tuscan countryside in the summer of 2008,” Hermann interrupted. “In which case, the question we should be asking is if you’re _my_ hallucination.”

“Oh… oh _come on_ , Hermann, that’s… That’s getting dangerously close to denying Cartesian basics, man. I think therefore I am. I can’t be the hallucination, this is _my_ head.” But he had never been to Italy. “And why would you even be hallucinating me? I haven’t had a Drift echo of you in nine years, not since They…” His voice was growing strained again. Bad memory. Fuck. Losing Hermann bit by bit every day until he could no longer smell the chalk or see the castles of mathematical formulas in the air, hear an exasperated but never truly cruel voice sighing at the back of his head. God, the Precursors were _such assholes_. “Seriously, name _one_ good reason it makes sense that I’m _your_ hallucination.”

“Because I’ve missed you.” Hermann stood stiff and brittle, knuckles whitening on the head of the cane. 

Newt stared. “What?”

“I’ve _missed_ you, Newt. Terribly. More than is reasonable or even…”  

Newt blinked, and blinked harder again to clear his vision because this was not _on_ , alright, this was not _fair_. He should have known. He should have guessed his own  _fucking subconscious_ would pull some guilt trip on him, right out the gate. Newt shoved his hands in his pockets and let his chin fall to his chest as he turned on his heels back down the path towards the hill.

“...safe, given my task. Newt? Newt! Stop this instant, where are you going?” He heard the three-patter stutter step of fake-Hermann and his cane crunching along the road.  
  
“Out of here! Down, up, I don’t know. But I do know I don’t have time to be wasting on a fucking hallucinations that can’t even get the script right,” Newt turned, looking behind him as he walked backward, glaring at the specter that followed, before turning back to continue his trudge.  
  
“Newt.” A hand closed around his upper arm and Newt spun, jabbing his finger in fake-Hermann’s face.  
  
“See, that, right there. Hermann never called me “Newt” even though I asked him for _years_. This? This is just wish-fulfillment. Like I said, you’re a fake. A fraud. Because apparently, I’m the only person on Earth these days who can tell when someone’s personality completely flips and then _actually do something about it_.”  
  
Hermann blanched, and his hand fell from Newt’s arm to hang slack at his side.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry we did not realize sooner,” Hermann said, through lips that looked stiff, paralyzed.

“Yeah, I _bet_  you were when those _bastards_ went ahead and used _my_ brain to end the world.” Newt’s voice had gone strained and high-pitched, and his breath came out hard like it did right before a truly spectacular fight with Hermann, really, one of the awesome ones. 

Except fake Hermann wasn’t fighting back, another sign this couldn’t _really_ be him, and what he didn’t need right now was a hallucination that refused to just play along as your average abstract spirit guide and instead kept _insisting_ it wasn’t a hallucination at all just to fuck with his head, and he was so  _done_ with things that fucked with his head. This Hermann looked like Newt had stabbed him, something the Precursors would have just _loved_ to do to the real Hermann.

“Alright, you know what? Let’s pretend for a second,” Newt said, shaking his finger as he stepped in close, getting right up in fake-Hermann’s face. “Let’s pretend you’re actually Hermann, who has suddenly decided to come looking for me just when I needed you, who suddenly calls me Newt and is actually _verbal_ about things like human emotion. Fantasies number one, two, and three right there. Then let’s pretend everything I’m about to say isn’t something you, as my subconscious dream version of him, already know.”

Hermann nodded and squared himself as if standing at attention, both hands on the head of his cane. Christ, did he have to be so _stoic_ about it? This wasn’t his Hermann, this wasn’t Hermann _at all_. The _real_ one would have interrupted Newt by now. Told him he was an idiot. So it didn’t matter, right? Actually, it would feel really _fucking_ good to tell him everything that had been on Newt’s chest for the last ten _fucking_ years and know that somewhere, his Hermann, was unscathed and probably off somewhere leading his merry life.

“Do you know how many times I tried to warn all of you? And you, especially? How was _everything I did_ not a red fucking flag? Going into the private sector to build _weapons?_  Hermann, you _heard_ my rants against the military-industrial complex! The goddamn suits, the shades, leaving you and everyone at the Shatterdome behind to go chase a dollar? They made me do all of that, but I thought: it’ll be ok right? It’s all so _weird_ , someone will notice. Hermann will notice. 

“But you couldn’t be bothered. You couldn’t even come to dinner when I asked you, you would have seen what _Alice_ really was. But you couldn’t even bend enough to do _that,_ could you? Everything Newt does is so stupid, _so unpredictable_ ,” he dropped into his Hermann-mocking British accent, and it was rougher and stiffer than usual because he was so _furious_ that his body or his memory or whatever had decided he was going to cry now and that only made him _more_ furious. “You were my _Drift partner_. You were in my _head_ , you should have _known_ that. I would have died for all of you, I almost did! But not once could you or _any_ of the others come chasing after… after me.” 

It was unfair. Worse, most of it was untrue, and ugly, and selfish. Just mingled disappointment and resentment that had built up over ten years of staring out as a prisoner from behind his own eyeballs. He had known the worst thing that could happen was for Hermann to chase after him, but it didn’t mean Newt hadn’t wanted it, selfishly, even as the full enormity of the Precursor plan became clear to him. They wanted Hermann too, just as much as he did. It had been easy to ask again and again, _Come meet Alice_ , with both he and his captors wanting the same thing, just with different outcomes.  

Not that any of that mattered, except for some weird form of catharsis. This wasn’t Hermann. Hermann might not even be alive, not with Newt’s last glimpse of him his own hands wrapped around Hermann’s throat, and Hermann’s thumb running over his knuckles as if to say _It’s alright, I forgive you_ even when he should have been _fighting_ , clawing at Newt’s arms and his face to save his own _life_.

_That_ did it. The absolute _last_ thing he needed right now while trying to banish a clever fake was to remember the real Hermann, _his_ Hermann, possibly dead and forgiving him the whole damn time was the last straw. The strangling lump in Newt’s throat that had threatened ever since this wavering mirage of an imaginary friend came into existence finally pushed up through his throat and into his eyes. With a sound that was a mix between a cough and an embarrassing squeak, Newt snatched the glasses from his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he turned his back. 

He’d always been an ugly crier: red-faced and drippy. But unlike a certain _mathematician_ , he wasn’t afraid of feelings so he let himself sob, and screw it if it made the fake Hermann uncomfortable, this was 2035. Maybe. Who knew anymore? And all he would have wanted in that moment was to feel Hermann put an arm around him, something more than one of those awkward _what is physical contact and how does it work_ pats on the shoulder. Which is why the _second_ he felt a touch at his back that felt like the beginning of said hug, Newt wrenched away with a snarl. 

“You can’t even fake being him very well, can you? Because I’m _pretty sure_ Hermann has never instigated more than two seconds of physical contact in his _life_ ,” Newt spat.

“Hermann” retracted his hand, and as he did so his expression closed as if shutting a door on something vulnerable and in pain. His jaw stiffened. “Well now, that is _blatantly_ false. I’ll have you know _I_ was the one who found you on that first ill-advised Drift with the Kaiju brain and I held you for a good hour until I could be sure you would not have another seizure while I fetched help.” Hermann said. “Not that you’d know, as you were unconscious much of the time, so you may count that as one point towards me _not_ being a hallucination and I feel it need be said again I am _not_ , Newto—Newt. Simply because I address you by your preferred name and I don’t find the prospect of physical contact so horrific or, heaven forbid, _consoling_ you when you are grieving over events that are in large part my fault, as so very out of character. People do change. And I believe Drifting with you changed me, for the better.” A flicker then, a tremor in his lower lip, quickly stifled. “Which is undoubtedly what you detected as signs that I am a product of wish-fulfillment and fantasy rather than myself. I have indeed picked up several of your more _unfortunate_ characteristics over the years. You know I even found myself up to my elbows in Kaiju viscera more than once?” 

The corner of his lip quirked up at this admission. Newt could feel the tears and snot cooling on his face as he stared in bafflement. He took a second to wipe his nose on his sleeve and went back to staring at Hermann. 

“Ok, first I know you’re trying to distract me. Second, now I definitely know it’s not you,” Newt said, but his voice shook and Hermann was wearing that _grin_ that so archetypically _him_ whenever he had accomplished something that he wanted to show off. “I mean, why would you even do that? As far as anyone knew, the Breach was closed for good.”

“I did it to study if a combination of rare earth metals with Kaiju blood would create a form of rocket fuel powerful enough to propel a Jaeger,” Hermann said, and settled back smugly on his heels. “Which, by the way, it did. On the day of the Precursor attacked. When we stopped them.”

Newt gaped. “Sorry, did you say _rocket_ _fuel?_ Made with _Kaiju blood_?”

“Indeed.”

“Hermann…” Newt said. His hands went to his scalp, tears forgotten, as he tugged at his hair and exclaimed, “That is the _sickest shit I’ve ever heard!_ Oh my god, are you kidding me? That’s amazing! And it _worked_?”

Hermann studied him, a fond smile that shifted to one just this side of preening. “That’s what I always thought you would say. _Ahem_. Yes _._ That is, on the first try. Which _was_ rather unacceptably dangerous, but we were running out of options, second attempt to end the world and all that.”

“You stopped the Precursors with _flying Jaegers_ that used _Kaiju blood_ as _rocket fuel_?” Newt screeched. “Wait, did you tell me about this? Him? The rocket fuel thing?”

“I did, but he seemed rather unimpressed,” Hermann grimaced.

Newt’s jaw dropped. “And you didn’t realize _right that second_ that it wasn’t me?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” All levity left Hermann, and his gaze dropped to the ground. “I am deeply sorry, Newton. I promise you, I will get you out of here, and I will not leave your side again so long as I live.”

Newt’s heart sank. The excitement fizzled. “Aaw, Herms,” Newt began. “Fake Herms, can I call you that? Was that a proposal? That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever not-said to me.”

“And if it was?” Hermann said, his back going rigid as he straightened. “I just spent the last years learning in excruciating detail that I’d rather not be in a world without you.”

“Man, at least invite me out to dinner first,” Newt said. His grin slipped, another emotion elbowing its way into his gut and somewhere a bit higher that might have been his heart if he was actually in his body properly. “Kaiju blood rockets, stopping the Precursors, you apologizing to me? Wow…my subconscious is _really_ good at this.”

Hermann started, and with a look of fury let the cane fall to the chalky ground as he seized Newt by the shoulders, pulling him so they were face to face. “ _Newton_ , for the last _bloody_ time, I am not a hallucination. I am here to help you wake up, I have been looking for _you,_ y—. Myself and Marshal P— this very moment. We are trying to g—. I need you to tr— me on this one, _please_.”

“Hermann? Uh, fake-Hermann, I think your cell service is fading man, what was that? Is this because I figured you out or something? Is this a test?” Newt said, brow crinkling. The fake Hermann was speaking, lips moving but the sound was cutting in and out, like a badly tuned television screen. Fake-Hermann’s eyes widened, and his fingers tightened on Newt’s shoulders. 

“No! Listen to me, N—. I’m here! I will n—! Not ever again!” 

 

* * *

 

_“What was that? Pentecost, put me back under this instant!”_

_“Can’t do that, doc. It’s been two hours already, timer’s up.”_

_“Newt is in there, I saw him! He’s convinced we’ve abandoned him, I have to go back there now.”_

_“Two hours is already a lot for an untrained civilian. Dr. Geiszler has waited this many years already, I’m sure he can handle a week while you recuperate. If that was even him.”_

_“I know it was him. I’m sure of it!”_

_“It’s a risk we’ve discussed, Gottlieb. You’ve already got a copy of Dr. Geiszler in your head. You could easily be bringing in something that isn’t there anymore, projecting. Or worse, chasing after a trap left for you by the Precursors. They knew about both of you, after all, and I don’t imagine they were happy with you.”_

_“I’m well aware. But I’d like to think I am the authority on my own Drift partner and I’m telling you that was him! He’s trapped in some sort of mindscape, there seems to be some reference to Dante’s Inferno in its makeup. Perhaps Newton’s situation is more like that of Marshal Mori than I realized? Dr. Geiszler could be translating his escape route through an abstract maze, waiting to be drawn out as she was by Mr. Becket. If so, perhaps I can lead him through the steps to draw his consciousness out of the coma!”_

_"All great theories, doc, but Raleigh and Maks were the exception, and their timetable was seriously dangerous. I’ve been on dozens more Drifts than you and I can tell you it doesn’t always work like that. Ghost Drift is real and really dangerous. For every Drift partner that dragged the other out of a coma like this, we’ve lost a dozen more who Drifted too often and chased the rabbit of their comatose partners over the edge and ended up just as brain-dead. I won’t take that risk with you now that we’ve got the time to spare. You will obey the prescribed week evaluation period before you will try to make contact with Geiszler again.”_

_“Pentecost… sir, I am begging you…”_

_“That’s my last word on the matter. Now get some rest, you look like shit.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: the bit about Raleigh Drifting with Mako to get her out of the coma was the original plan for them in Pacific Rim: Uprising. I found this out while quite far in to writing this fic, but it's so similar in premise to what's happening with Hermann and Newt I decided to include it as the inspiration for how Hermann got this idea. So yes, Mako lives!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving comments as you go, they're my favorite way to find out what you think of the story so far!


	2. Unto the Breach - Hermann

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through me the way to the infernal city:  
> Through me the way to eternal sadness:  
> Through me the way to the lost people.  
> Justice moved my supreme maker:  
> I was shaped by divine power,  
> By highest wisdom, and by primal love.  
> Before me, nothing was created, that is not eternal:  
> And eternal I endure.  
> Forsake all hope, all you that enter here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One song per chapter: "Laughing With" by Regina Spektor, rather nicely sums up Hermann's headspace for the past years.

_Hermann… Hermann!_

_I think you took the lights with you. I can’t see anything. Or speak. I think I’m back in the basement again, man._

_I’m sorry I called you a hallucination so please…_

_Please._

_Just come back._

_Don’t leave me here alone_. 

 

* * *

 

Hermann all but flew to the medical wing when his week-long exile was up. The years had not been kind, his joints protested with every step, but he forced past the pain and focused only on the thrill of fear and hope that were practically indistinguishable from one another burning through his veins. 

Finally, after all this time, _contact_ with Newton. 

He did not want to think of the past, the many fruitless attempts as the Pons warmed to his skin’s temperature and nothing changed. Hours of attempts, of watching with a sinking heart as the face of his partner from so many years ago remained slack and unresponsive. A far cry from the twisted, mocking expression of the Precursors wearing Newton’s body and features like a rumpled suit, but at least then he had been animated. At least then it was possible to believe he was in there _somewhere_ , twisted and melded with their will, and even if they had somehow won him over to their cause, he was _alive_. 

Until the day the war ended. The bomb. The growing circle of pure _white_ on their sensors as the Anteverse was consumed by an explosion that would not end. Until that moment when Newt’s eyes had rolled back into his head as the creatures inside him  _screamed_ , and trembled, and he had gone horribly still. A puppet without strings. An empty vessel no longer filled by the Precursors will, or anything at all, and with only his breathing to indicate there was any spark of life left in Newt’s body.

Hermann shook his head to banish the wave of remembered horror, and the memory of Newt slumped in his prison, limp and glassy-eyed. He pushed open the door to the medical wing where his partner had lain ever since. 

The room was sterile white, medical equipment beeping and whirring with the complex life support systems that had kept Newton alive ever since, even as there were some who would have pulled the plug for his (unwilling, it was _unwilling you imbeciles_ ) role in the Precursors’ attack that day. 

A Pons waited for Hermann by the chair next to Newt’s bed.  Newt had not changed, but then, of course he had not. His face remained waxy and sunken, as every day his muscles wasted further with the passage of time. 

In the corner, Jake Pentecost stood with his arms crossed, inclined over the nurse’s electronic pad, nodding at whatever was on the screen. He looked up at the sound of the door opening. “Dr. Gottlieb, punctual as ever. Don’t wait on us, I figure you’re familiar with the equipment, yeah? Ms. Chen here will be monitoring today and we’ll pull you out at six hours this time.”

“Please, do not rush on my account,” Hermann said as he took his seat and placed the cold metal ring like a crown upon his head. “I am hardly new at this. Eight hours would provide no risk at all beyond mild eye strain.”

“Them’s the rules, I’m afraid. We can talk about increasing your time after this session. See you on the flip side.”

Hermann’s lips pursed but he made no further argument. Newt had waited long enough as it was. With a final deep breath, Hermann reached for the controller to depress the button, and the world melted away. 

 

* * *

 

He found himself in the void once again, but even that was an improvement over the dozens of attempts before that where there had been no mind on the other end to Drift with at all. The darkness stretched cavernous around him, a prison cell. Impossible that it should feel cold and yet it was. The cold sucked at him, as if leeching away his heat with every step. 

Hermann envisioned himself a body, the cane manifesting by instinct, as he walked deeper into the shadows. Fear thrilled through him at the thought that the encounter the week before was simply a fluke, a spark of consciousness from Newt just as quickly extinguished. Or perhaps only his ownconsiderable mental faculties providing hope where there was none, as Pentecost had said. 

Why had it worked that time, if indeed it had? He recalled the copy of Dante's  _Inferno_ sitting on the desk in his flat, atop a stack other books of poetry as he searched their pages for inspiration where the hard sciences had failed him. In all his many fantasies and imaginings, Hermann had flattered himself with the hope that he might serve as a guide, both parts Virgil and Beatrice. Thou follow me, and I will be thy guide. _Amor mi mosse, che mi fa parlare._

But he had never imagined anything quite so _literal_ as the vision of _Canto I_ as a mindscape in which to discover him. That his thoughts, his projections, would lead to Newt walking up to him along a half-forgotten road in the heat of an Italian summer. Newton had never struck him as a particular fan of the Classics, to frame his own salvation thus. He doubted the man knew that, “Fortune favors the brave, dude,” was a paraphrase of Virgil’s own _audentis Fortuna iuvat_. 

And yet here here they were. If this was Newton at all. 

The thought curled and twisted in what Hermann knew was the mind’s projection of what his stomach would feel. There was nothing here in the darkness. No sign of Newt and rage smoldered within him at Pentecost pulling him out so soon, when Hermann _had_ Newt for the first time. He had been so _close_ and now…

“Hey man.”

Hermann stumbled over the unexpected obstacle in his path, and jerked to see a curled shape that had either been invisible against the darkness or, if he was a hallucination, summoned by a thought. 

Newt sat on the ground with his knees pulled to his chest and lifted eyes reddened behind his black-rimmed glasses. His lips quirked in a weak grin, but that may have been a mere muscle spasm as the rest of his body shivered and twitched. “Nice to have you back.” His voice shook, and his chin dropped to his chest as he hugged his knees tighter. 

“Good God, Newton, what are you doing sitting here in the dark?” Hermann said. He fell to his knees beside Newt, a phantom pang of warning pulsed in his leg but he ignored it, pushed it away like the irrelevant data it was. Who knew where the true line was between reality and clever illusion in this place? Hermann was already taking his suit jacket off and draping it around Newt, letting his fingertips linger at his shoulders. Cold seemed to radiate from him, and Newt gave a shaky nod of thanks as he pulled the jacket close. 

“N-not really my choice. When you left you t-took the light with you. Ok, that sounded  _way_  more romantic than I meant. Uh, I mean you also took the heat, and my body, and the sound,” Newt said. “It was all just… gone. Like before.”

Hermann’s face slackened as his mind raced over possibilities. “You were unable to manifest any sort of mindscape when I was gone?”

Newt nodded. 

A creeping sense of sick horror worked its way into Hermann’s belly. “And yet… you were still here? Conscious?”

Another nod. 

The horror twisted. “And you have been this way before? Before I arrived? Do you have any sense of how long?”

“Pretty long. I dunno it’s… fuzzy. Time doesn’t really have much meaning in the void, Herms,” Newt said, with a glance up at him. “Do you mind if I call you Herms now? Only Fake Hermann is kinda cumbersome.”

“If you must,” Hermann murmured absently as he thought. 

Fuzzy time. That could mean anything, but every version of ‘anything’ brought with it an avalanche of new terrors. That Newt had been here, alone in the dark but conscious ever since they destroyed the Precursors. That he may have been alone in the dark even before _that_ , whenever the Precursors enacted their will through him. That he could be aware of each passing second in real time, years upon years. Or that he experienced time more quickly, and Hermann’s six hours were running out more swiftly than he’d realized. “Newton, listen to me. When I was last here, you manifested a road. Can you bring that back? We must get you out of here.”

“Yeah, I remember dude it was only… a few hours ago, maybe a day? At most?” Newton said. Hermann’s expression must have given away his fears because Newton trailed off. “Uh, or maybe more?” 

“I’ve been gone a week,” Hermann said. “And I am terribly sorry. Pentecost would not hear otherwise. I have insisted, again and again, that I do not need so much recovery time from a single Drift but that infuriating man—!”

“A week?” Newton said faintly. “How long have I been down here?”

Hermann swallowed. “First things first, we need that path. Can you picture it in your mind? Try to summon—”

“Hermann.”

Newt had stopped shivering. His gaze was level, imploring, and unwavering. A minute shudder ran through him, less certain than his front would suggest then, but it held Hermann fast.

“Two years.” 

Reddened eyes widened behind black-rimmed glasses. “Since…?”

Hermann squared himself, and said with a voice that was certainly not wavering with nerves, “It has been two years since you warned me of the Precursors in your mind. Since I can be certain we last spoke.”

Newt's lips parted in a stunned intake of breath. Hermann dropped his gaze and fiddled with the head of his cane, unable to watch the realization sink in. And as he did so he babbled, “I tried to reach you sooner. Many times. But the Precursors built…some sort of wall around you, I believe it was the one that dampened any connection we once had from our first Drift. With no trustworthy intelligence that could be drawn from the creatures, and no way to reach you inside without risking infection from the hive mind, they were an informational dead end. I paid for your life support and treatment but then… then there was the invasion. A bomb. A chain reaction designed with Kaiju anatomy in mind intended to destroy their production centers, except it travelled further than we anticipated. Much further, we have no idea just how far, but the Precursors are gone now, as far as any have been able to tell.”

Hermann closed his eyes, and saw the flash of Newt’s body seizing as the Precursors died. “They released you with their deaths, I believe. I’ve been trying to reach you ever since.”

Newt’s mouth worked. “They’re gone?”

Hermann nodded, a muscle twitching in his jaw as tensed, feeling as if Newt could see right through him.

“Wow that’s… wow. I’m gonna need to think about that one for a bit. You… you’ve been trying to get me out with a Drift? Not a bad idea. Heh, I mean in theory the Precursors might have buried me under neural load, so you’re kinda _lifting_ the weight off me…” Newt chewed on his lower lip, his eyebrows rising and falling as he seemed to process all Hermann had said. “But why did it only work now?”

Hermann shrugged, and closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he considered his words. “If—as you suggested first, by the way—this is even you and I am not falling for a trap left behind by your former captors? I have no idea. Perhaps only now your mind has healed enough from the trauma to maintain a neural bridge. Perhaps we struck upon a shared memory, one that made you accessible to the Drift. Perhaps you finally reached out to me in return at just the right moment. Perhaps all three. I can theorize, but I have no certainty. I can only do everything in my power to guide you out of here.”

There was a shift in the air, a feeling of weight in the atmosphere around him. It was no longer so cold, and with a frown Hermann opened his eyes. A pathway of stone, chipped and dark, ran solid beneath his feet. As he straightened his shoulders and looked up, he beheld the mouth of a cave carved of the same rock, the entrance black and yawning. Hermann swiveled, and behind him saw the path turn gray, and then white to the pale gravel stretching out behind them that they had walked at their last meeting. 

When he turned back, Newt shrugged. “If you’re right, this is the next step, isn’t it? No sense in walking the whole way.”

Hermann’s grip tightened on the head of his cane as he turned and craned his neck to take in the yawning entrance of the cave that stretched around them like the open maw of a Kaiju. “ _Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate,”_ he murmured. The words written above the door to Hell: Forsake all hope, all you that enter here.

“Your accent is terrible.”

Hermann sighed. “And your vision of the entrance to Hell is both a _little_ too literal for my tastes, and stolen from the Doré illustrations. Of course you would pick the most horrifying path to salvation that has ever graced the Western tradition.”

“You think _I_ picked this? Do you know how many times I tried to manifest Zepplin’s Stairway to Heaven, or a friendly Otachi, or better yet the Mars shuttle while you were gone? This is at least half your fault, dude.”

“Of course, blame the rescuer for your predicament,” Hermann said, rolling his eyes.

“You haven’t rescued me yet,” Newt said. When Hermann glanced over he saw the faint smirk on Newton’s lips. “And for all I know, you’re just a convenient guide I conjured up to get me through my own weird little Escape the Room puzzle.” Hermann opened his mouth to protest only to be waved off. “I know, I know. You’ve got some stuff I never would have figured out, like Kaiju blood for _rocket fuel._ Put that one as a little tally in your box for being possibly real.” 

“Oh come now, I’m sure with sufficient time and freedom from Anteverse influence, not to mention the motivation, you might have…”

“Dude, just take the compliment.” 

Hermann huffed, and strode towards the entrance of the cave. The air grew cooler around him with each step. After a moment Newton walked past him, hands in his pockets and white shirt sleeves pulled to the elbows, the lurid red of his tattoos peeking out from beneath the gray of Hermann’s coat still slung over his shoulders. He stopped a few feet ahead, just at the end of the blackness that led down into the earth. 

“Do you have any idea what we’ll find down there?” Newt said without looking back. 

Hermann paused, sending his mind back to the early days of his education. “The first circle is Limbo, where dwell the virtuous who lived before the time of Christ or were not baptized and so cannot enter God’s supposed kingdom. Next are the crimes of passion: Lust, Gluttony, Greed, and Wrath. Then the crimes of reason: Heresy, Violence, Fraud, and finally Treachery.”  
  
“I can’t imagine I committed _all_ of those,” Newt scoffed.

“Neither had Dante, that wasn’t the point. The journey into Hell was instructive, not punitive.” Hermann frowned. “But you are not Dante, and I am not Virgil who can keep whatever is down there from harming us. I have no idea what your mind is trying to achieve with this particular model, or even if we can achieve it. To simply dive in would be very reckless were there any other choice.”

“Oh yeah, cause we’ve never done anything reckless before,” Newt snorted. He turned back to the darkness before them, and seemed to waver before Hermann’s eyes, the bravado in the stiffness of his spine sinking, slouching and he swayed on his feet as if hit with a wave of trepidation. “Hey, Hermann?” he said, and there was no lightness in his tone any longer, stripped of artifice and humor. Faint with fear. “If you’re real, and I’m not admitting you are, and this, uh, doesn’t work? You need to get out of here, man. Don’t get dragged down into my mess any more than you already have.”

Hermann bristled, outrage crackling along the same channels of _ache_ and _worry_ that had haunted him ever since Newt had ceased to return his calls, and only grown ever since, until it was a yawning monster in his chest, a black hole at the center of his life. “Of all the ridiculous notions. Need I remind you that all before us is, in all likelihood, mere metaphor, Newton, and if you think for one sec—“

“I wasn’t done,” Newt said, quietly. And it was the quiet that drew Hermann up short, all his bluster leaving him as if punctured, beneath a wash of numbness. “Even if this doesn’t work, thank you. Ok? I don’t want you to beat yourself up about it. I spent a long time in there… in here. And there might not be anything left to drag out. But I want you to know that I’m glad someone did come looking for me eventually, and that it was you, and you didn’t give up on me. That’s pretty damn awesome.”

This was ridiculous. He should be focusing right now, instead he was struggling to breathe, hobbling to Newt’s side and taking his cold hand in a death grip. “As if I would even consider leaving you here,” he scoffed. “Come now, Newton, once more unto the breach, hmm?”

Newton turned to face him then, face pale and eyes reddened. But some of that old confidence was there, or at least the pretense of it, shaky and paper thin. “… Yeah. Into the Breach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the one after are a little shorter than intended, but on average chapter length will be around 4,000 words with a couple that are twice that.
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed! Please consider leaving comments as you go, it's really the only way I have to know what you're thinking as you read! And thank you for reading!


	3. Limbo - Newt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The poet, white of face, began: ‘Now, let us descend into the blind world below: I will go first, and you go second.’ And I, who saw his altered color, said: ‘How can I go on, if you are afraid, who are my comfort when I hesitate?’ And he to me: ‘The anguish of the people, here below, brings that look of pity to my face, that you mistake for fear. Let us go, for the length of our journey demands it.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One song per chapter: "Ascolta" by Ludovico Einaudi, for ambience if you so choose.

The stone cavern wound out before them, less a real cave and more someone’s idea of what a cinematically pleasing cave should look like. The floor was smooth, rust-colored tufa stone and the light never really faded despite their lack of torch or flashlight. There were even some tasteful stalagmites, which would be geologically impossible.

“Ok, now I’m even more certain this is your fault,” Newt said under his breath. He would have at least come up with a more creative stone formation. Maybe limestone, all craggy and fang-like, stone-filtered water dripping slick down pale walls. Hermann’s cane clicked in staccato counterpoint to their footsteps. 

“Hush, there’s something ahead,” Hermann said, ignoring him. Newt squinted. The lighting was… ok, it was weird. Sort of fluorescent, artificial. It prickled at the back of his mind and anxiety welled in his gut. 

“Herms, I’m not sure…”

They rounded the corner, and Newt saw himself. A figure sitting on the ground before the ghostly glow of a computer screen. Around him a clear membrane, like a bubble, separated and magnified him. The sound of clicking of a laptop keyboard frantic and jittering. The other-Newt bent forward, muttering to himself. 

Vertigo washed over Newt, turning his stomach upside down, to be _here_ and _there_ at the same time. Closer and closer. He wasn’t walking, he didn’t want to be walking forward, or placing his hand on bubble of light so it flexed beneath his hand. He wanted to go back, but back the way they came there was no way out he had to get out of here he had to go—

_January, 2026, and the year before was a blur. Newt remembered checking over the waves of emails that came in the wake of the Breach close. Offers for interviews, for jobs, for sex, for pretty much anything he wanted as one of the two scientists who directly lead to the closing of the Breach. Big damn heroes. Saving the world._

_His head was killing him._

_He sat surrounded by boxes, which felt all wrong, but at least the mess seemed right. The white fluorescent light came from an uncovered bulb in the ceiling. His laptop was out, the glow bathing his fingertips, and his spine hurt from sitting hunched over on the ground. Wherever he was, he didn’t even have a desk. His stomach grumbled but the door to the fridge stood open, the light out. An apartment?_

_He squinted, forcing himself to think past the haze in his head. When had he drank enough to have a hangover? He vaguely remembered... something about leaving PPDC, having his things shipped. Had his lab gear made it? What about his bed? None of his posters were here and some of those were_ vintage _. This place was wrong, too big, too sterile._

“Newton, stay with me, what are we looking at here?”

“I’m trying, Herms, but.. ugh, I think I’m feeling kind of seasick? I’m here but I’m also…also there? I don’t…”

“Why would it be showing you this? This level corresponds to Limbo. Think!”

“I—It might be my apartment after leaving the PPDC for Shao?”

_His head cleared a little when he focused. For a second he wondered if he’d heard voices in the next apartment. Some kind of screaming argument? That would be a pain in the ass. Maybe he should make a complaint. Or maybe he_ shouldn’t _because that sounded like one of Hermann’s intrusive Drift thoughts, and not the awesome kind like sudden clarity on quantum entanglement._

“Newton! Newt, are you listening to me? I need you to--” 

_Hermann…_

_If he was here, where was Hermann?_

_Newt straightened, looking around the apartment for any sign of how he’d gotten here. It looked like a fancy loft studio, not the kind of place he’d want in a million years. More to the point, there was a low staircase going to a bedroom, but he’d never pick a place with a staircase to the bedroom, not with Hermann’s leg. Unless Hermann had his own room? But there was no sign of a second bedroom. There was no sign of Hermann at all._

_His fingers ached. He had been working on something. There were words written on his laptop screen, strings of random letters. Some kind of code? His eyebrows furrowed as Newt tried to make out the words but it was all jumble of—_

HermannhelpIthinktheygotmetheymovedmeouttothisplaceIpromiseInevermeanttoleaveHermsyougottacomegetmethey’renotgoingtoletmegoyou’vegottobelievemeHERMANNHELPHELPMEHELPMEHELPMEHELPMEHELPMEHELPMEHELPMEHELPMEHELPMEHELPMEHELPMEHELPMEHELP _—_

_Newt recoiled, hand slamming to his mouth as his eyes widened over the pages… Holy shit, it went for_ pages _of rambling cries for help. And in the address bar, Hermann’s PPDC email address. He just needed to hit send._

_His fingers drifted forward, hovering at the screen. So simple to send, so simple to fire that signal flare. Something was wrong. He didn’t remember leaving the PPDC, he didn’t remember how he got here. But somewhere in the next room a yellow light pulsed with malevolence, reaching for him…_

“Dear God, Newton! Newt, talk to me!”

_Tears burned down his face. He knew if he looked in the desk drawer there would be pages of scribbled, increasingly insane messages to Hermann begging for help, an outbox full of unsent emails with the same babbled words and he never sent them, he never got to send them,_ They never let him send them...

_Please, someone, help._

“Enough! That’s enough!”

The door to the apartment slammed open, bouncing off the wall as Hermann stalked in, cane barely touching the floor. He was pale, panting, his wide lips twisted in a familiar grimace of outrage. Newt blinked up at him, his arm still shaking from the exertion of trying to force his hand to obey.

“Give me that,” Hermann snapped, and did not wait for Newt to acquiesce. He leaned down and snatched the laptop off the floor, balancing it precariously on one hand as he jammed his finger at the screen. 

**Sent.**

The fluorescent lights and the sterile loft and the laptop with its blinking message vanished. Sent. SentSent _Sent_ … If it had just gotten out that time, they wouldn’t be here.

The room dissolved.

Newt released an explosive breath. “Oh god, oh fuck, man. What _was_ that?” He was shaking, relief coursing through him so hard it was making him dizzy. And Hermann stood above him, looking as if he had seen a ghost.

“I could ask very much the same,” Hermann said. His lips moved, and there was the faintest tremor in his chin before he said, “Was that a vision? Or…or a memory?”

“A memory, I think,” Newt said. He put out his hand, and without hesitation Hermann reached down and hauled him to his feet. The cavern around them was empty now, no apartment, no laptop. “From the first year.”

“You tried to contact me?” Something in Hermann’s tone made Newt look back at him. 

“Fuck. Herms, hey, come on, Hermann,” Newt said. Hermann had gone deathly pale and was gripping his cane in shaking hands, staring at the spot on the ground where the laptop had been. Newt stepped in closer, drawing Hermann’s attention back to him with light taps on his cheek with his palm. “Hey. It was a long time ago, you couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known when you left the PPDC with barely a word and none of your personal effects?” Hermann retorted, his voice strangled. “Couldn’t have once traveled to Shanghai to check in on you, knowing what we had gone through, and that those creatures could still be in our heads?”

“I had a letter of resignation and everything,” Newt protested. “I remember that much at least. Made it all official, said I had a new dream job with Shao and the start date was ten minutes ago, remember? You probably just thought I was excited, just being Newt, y’know? Unpredictable.”

Hermann shook his head violently, the tremors in his whole body only growing worse. “You were having _seizures_ in that vision, Newton! What did they do to you to stop you from calling for help? How could you so easily forgive that I allowed this to happen, that I did nothing?”

Newt shrugged, the uncomfortable, squirming feeling welling inside. Somehow, Hermann seeing this was far worse than anything glimpsed during the intimacy of the Drift. “I, uh, I don’t think I did, y’know? I think that’s part of how They got me. They let the resentment build up, kinda… fed it. Cut me off from people, fuzzed my memories, let me think no one cared. If I was seeing that,” he jerked his head towards the empty end of the cavern, “it was probably because They wanted me to. Most of the time They just had me blacked out. But if I saw that I couldn’t call for help, if I gave up and stopped fighting… _oof_.”

Newt looked down to Hermann clutching at his chest, long arms wrapped around him as the other man pulled him close, burying his face against his chest. This close, Newt could feel the tremors racing through Hermann’s body, as he squeezed tighter as if he would never let go. Newt swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat, blinking to clear his eyes as he placed an awkward hand down to pat Hermann’s back. “Hey, where did this come from, I thought you had a rule about PDA?”

It was supposed to be comforting, but Hermann only clutched him tighter and made a choked sound.

“Never again, Newton. This will never happen again, do you understand me? If I must remain within ten feet of you at all times I will do it, I swear to God. You will not be alone like that again.”

Newt swallowed past the tightness welling in his throat, and let his hand come to rest on Hermann’s back, stilling the awkward patting. “Sounds like hell for you, man. Remember that line down the middle of the lab?”

“As one of the greatest regrets of my life.”

Ok, that was just unfair. He was doing well, like a _really_ well, at holding it together, all things considered, like watching his past self almost have a seizure trying to call for help. _Reliving_ that. Hermann couldn’t just _say_ things like that out of the blue, especially when they couldn’t possibly be true.

Could they?

It had to be some sort of wish fulfillment. It was just too _close_ to the kinds of things he had dreamed would happen when he was alone in his apartment at night, in those rare moments where the Precursors had released their hold enough to let him sleep without being blacked out. When Newt had stared up at the ceiling under the pulsing yellow light of the tank and wished _someone_ would come in the front door and pull the plug on it all.  And that someone had always been Hermann, sniffing out the clues, following the trail, pulling him out by the hand from the nightmare and kissing him soundly when they got to the other side. Ok, that part had definitely been fantasy, but come on, he’d been imprisoned by aliens, he was allowed his indulgences.

So there was just no way that this could really be Hermann, _his_ Hermann, hugging him back and talking about rescuing him and not caring about PDA. Unless he was missing something? Unless…

Newt cleared his throat, pressing his fist to his mouth as he did so and looking down the hallway. “So, uh, what’s next? Can’t be that bad, right? I mean that was a piece of cake, just had to press a button.”  But wasn’t pressing a button what got him into this mess in the first place, with that first Drift? His voice was shivering and rising in pitch to belie his forced confidence, and the fact that Hermann had gone still didn’t help. 

“It’s...ah… Lust.”

“ _What_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you enjoyed our first glimpse of one of the Circles! I'd love to hear what you're thinking about the story so far!


	4. Lust - Hermann

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I learnt that the carnal sinners are condemned to these torments, they who subject their reason to their lust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One song per chapter: "We Gotta Get Out of This Place" (cover) by Jarrod Spector, because I prefer it to the original and it sounds closer to, well, you'll see.

“ _What?_ ”

Newt looked pallid, sweat glistening at his hairline from their ordeal, and his already high voice had _screeched_ at the mention of the Second Circle.

“Before we continue, I must ask…” Hermann began.

“No, man, I’m still hung up on the level thing you just said. What the hell is that going to mean after whatever the fuck that last one was? I don’t want to play this game anymore. I’ve got enough shit in my head without dealing with some Medieval asshole’s idea of what’s good and bad!”

“This is quite important, Newton…” Hermann tried again.

“I mean, what was even wrong with _lust_ to Dante, right? A man and a woman loving each other outside of arranged marriage? Dude, people from our time would get burnt at the _stake_ back then just for the kind of porn we look at today!”

“Newton, please focus, I have to know…”

“And by we, I mean other people, of course. Love is a beautiful thing, man, and it’s not like any of us can _help_ who we fall for even if it would _definitely_ freak them out so you gotta play cool about it. And lust is totally natural too, what’s wrong with—”

“ _Did you ever love me in return, Newton?_ ”

That stopped Newt’s tirade. Everything stopped. Hermann’s heart stopped. He jerked away from Newt, clenching the head of his cane in both hands as he drew himself taller, bracing himself. “I only ask in order to prepare us for whatever might be in that room,” Hermann said, nodding down the corridor. His voice was breathless, but at least it did not shake. “There is insufficient data to form any hypothesis on how to break free of this place based on only one sample…”

“Hermann.”

“… as this is the highest Circle. We have no true idea of the risks we will face as we go deeper.”

“Herms.”

“Nor do I have _any_ idea of how long we have until the Drift session ends, the passage of time is wretchedly difficult to track here.”

“Hey.”

“What _is_ it, Newton?” Hermann snapped. 

“Do you want an answer, or…?”

“No! I mean, yes, but it’s… it’s entirely academic,” Hermann said. His pulse raced. What had he done? He did not want the answer. In all likelihood he already _had_ it, and this was needless self-torment over pointless sentimentality. He cursed himself, and continued in a rush, “You must understand, there is no obligation implied based on the past. What we had was in itself entirely fleeting, a few moments in a Drift with a rig that almost certainly should have killed us both. That we had anything more is utterly unrelated to our present circumstance, and do you know what? I believe I will retract the question entirely, as it is wholly irrelevant. For, as you said, there need be no relationship between lust and love, platonic being equally relevant on the grand scale, but not necessarily applicable here,” Hermann trailed off as he realized Newt was just looking at him silently with a sad, lopsided grin. 

Newt shrugged, and gestured a mark into the air. “One point for you being a hallucination.”

Hermann’s jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon?”

“Pure Geiszlerian ranting right there, unless you’ve been suffering from some _serious_ ghost Drift while I wasn’t looking,” Newt said. Amusement twisted his lips but his eyes looked distant and sad. “Also I’m starting to get vertigo from how many times I’ve imagined this conversation. The real Hermann Gottlieb doesn’t _do_ emotions. Even in the goddamn Drift he kept me at arm’s length. We were side by side in the med bay for weeks after and I don’t remember him even talking to me before the Precursors yanked me off to work for Shao.”

Cold swept through Hermann, followed by confusion and sick horror. It wasn’t possible, couldn't be. But Newt was barely looking at him now, his whole body slouched and tired. His gaze flickered down the hallway where the next terror waited, and even that summoned no change in his expression except resignation.

“But Newton…” Hermann’s mouth worked, seeking the words. “… we _were_ lovers.”

Newt started. A small gesture, dismissive even, if not for the sharp intake of breath almost out of hearing. The confusion in the lightning-quick grin that confirmed the pit opening in Hermann's stomach.  “What? Like, in the Drift? Figuratively? Is this some kind of Romantic era German literature thing?”

“No, I’m afraid I mean _quite_ carnally,” Hermann said. He could not prevent the step he took towards Newt at the wave of pure _alarm_ that transformed the other man’s face. He imagined his own must look much the same, pale and paralyzed. A hallucination. What else could Newt be unless they somehow _took_ this? And yet it explained so much, every confused glance, every withdrawn touch. “Until you took that Shao offer, I flattered myself to think we might take a joint professorship somewhere. We spoke for hours in the med bay. We moved in together after. We made _plans_.”

Many times as Hermann sat by Newt’s bedside, he had wondered if it was the Precursors indeed who made Newt accept the Shao offer, dashing off into the night for an interview from which he never returned. An ugly part of Hermann always wished it was true. But Newt was always unpredictable, and the destruction of K-Sciences by the closing of the Breach had left him without a field, without a direction. What sort of lover would Hermann be to not understand, and to not support Newt in finding a new dream for his brilliant mind to pursue? And, knowing himself, how could he be at all surprised that he had not been enough? 

“But as I said, it was many years ago, and quite brief,” Hermann continued, and closed his eyes before he could drive himself mad tracing every shift in Newt’s expression. It wasn’t what it seemed. Less than a year, nearly twelve years ago, perhaps Newt had simply forgotten. Perhaps it really had been of so little account in the great tragedy of his life’s destruction, and it was only Hermann holding on and carrying his battered torch. But how was _that_ the better possibility? “So I hope you understand, there is no obligation implied with my mentioning it. It was only… given what we just experienced, I do not want to place you at risk, and it was the one… data point I did not know that might be relevant to the Second Circle.”

“… Data point?” Newt’s voice cracked, then rose to a shriek. “ _Data point?_ You bring up the fact we were fucking as a data point? Never mind, of course you do!” He threw up his arms and turned around, scrubbing a hand up under his glasses as he did so to pinch the bridge of his nose.

His shoulders began to shake.

“I knew They were taking shit out of my head,” Newt said, his voice low and rough. “I _knew_. There were gaps. Like I could remember the hangover but not the party. I knew I had…friends, people I sat with in the Shatterdome, but I couldn’t remember w-who? I couldn’t trace it, y’know, couldn’t prove a negative.” His pitch rose as he began to talk faster. “But I thought it was _small_ stuff. It had to be small or They’d lose important shit too, right? You were still there so I _knew_ I hadn’t lost the important stuff, but I never thought… I never…” Hermann moved closer, his hand hovering at Newt’s shoulder just as he gave a sob. “How long were we…?”

“Much of 2025,” Hermann said helplessly.  _Oh God, it's true._ His greatest hope and worst fear and how he had ever  _hoped_ for this made him feel sick now, but it explained everything, what he had never dared consider before but that tumbled all the pieces into a horrible, nightmarish kind of sense. An answer finally, after all this time, to his own ghost story. “You left with the year’s end. But we were, as you said, merely roommates at first, throughout our recovery period in the medical bay after the Drift.”

“Oh my god, we were roommates,” Newt snickered, as if he couldn't help himself.

“… Indeed,” Hermann sighed. “After our care, it simply made sense to share quarters, given our medical needs, and during the day we would…”

“…write our papers about closing the Breach, and at night we passed out on the couch together to keep the nightmares away,” Newt finished. Hermann went silent as Newt continued, “It was…a week? Maybe two? Before I showed up at your door because I couldn’t sleep? I couldn’t believe it when you invited me in. But that night I woke up with you all tangled around me and my heart melted, just fucking melted, and then you woke up and we started…”

“Yes,” Hermann coughed, his ears grown hot. “I thought you said you did not recall?”

Newt exhaled sharply. “So that was real?”

“Good God, Newton, what did they do to you?” Hermann whispered. “Were they… were you already being forced from your own mind that soon?” 

_Did I lie with_ them? he thought, and did not dare voice it aloud for fear of being sick. 

“Nah,” Newt chuckled under his breath. “Memory targeting? Read a biology journal sometime, Herms, we could do that to snails twenty years ago. And that’s all I was to the Precursors, a little bug. It was probably easy. They wouldn’t want to wipe too much, or I’d end up a vegetable. Couldn’t take out our Drift or I’d notice it was gone. I think I still _had_ a lot of those memories but they were just… weaker, hazy. They didn’t feel real, like when a dream is a little too realistic and it gets mixed up with memories, so you don’t know which is which? I thought we parted just… friends, maybe, that I wanted more but we never got there. And then it was all Shao and the plan and I just thought… that was it, my chance was gone, if I ever had it.”

Hermann fumbled, struggling for words to encompass the enormity of it all. What was lost. The time they _had_ together stolen, in addition to what they had lost in the interim? And all this time, Newt’s distance, his resignation, his never reaching out, was because even the security of his memories had been taken from him. Hermann could not help but allow his hand to close over Newt’s shoulder, just desperately needed to touch him, and squeezed it as tight as he dared. “Not gone. I’m here now.”

“ _Why?_ ” Newt’s looked back over his shoulder, eyes red-rimmed. “As far as you knew, I took off like some scumbag! Like, you _really_ believed that if we… if we were… that I’d leave you for some fucking _job?_ ”

“Have you seen me, Newton?” Hermann said, and tried to add a wry smile but his mouth would not obey. “Have you met me? We spent the majority of our days together screaming at one another as often as breathing, and only a few moments in the Drift. The relationship could have been a mere side effect. Our organization was floundering without purpose, our lives were directionless, and that you found meaning in a position that took you far away… I felt it was hardly my place to stop you. I know the extent of my error now,” Hermann shrugged miserably. “Then, it was far too easy to believe I was a mere dalliance. ‘Rockstar’ and all that.”

“I wouldn’t have left you, ok?” Newt’s voice cracked. “Have you met _me?_ Who else do you think would put up with me?”

“I…”

“Oh right, you. You actually did, and it wasn’t just in my head. And then I blew it, I mean… for all you knew, I tried to destroy the _world!_ ” He gave a hysterical bark of a laugh. “Even if I was like, a strong _seven_ before, on a good day, that’s gotta put me waaay down into negative one thousand. One million. _Christ_ , Hermann! Why did you even bother? Why did you even _talk_ to me after all that?” 

“Because I needn’t be in some sort of ‘official' relationship with you to care about your wellbeing, Newton!” Hermann retorted. “And of course I had my moments of doubt. But once I knew the truth, once I knew it wasn’t your choice? Nothing could have kept me away.”

“It might have been a trap,” Newt said dully. “It was dumb as shit for you to risk it for your…god what am I, your ex? You should be out there, man, you should be living your life not stuck in here rescuing me.”

“I feel I should be flattered by your view of my prospects out there,” Hermann gestured vaguely out towards the tunnels, and did his best to manage a comforting smile of sorts, pathetic as it likely was. “And besides, I have not rescued you yet.”

Newt’s lip twitch, and with a choked laugh he hung his head, shaking it. “You’re serious? You’re really doing all this for me?”

He wondered if Newt heard the echo of their first Drift in his question. “For you, with you… In truth, there is nowhere in the world I would rather be.”

Newt's breath left him in a rush. “Hermann?” Newt bit his lip, and reached up to clasp Hermann’s hand on his shoulder. “When we get out of here… do you want to try again?”

Hermann’s heart twisted, and he squeezed Newt’s hand in return. “Yes. Very much so.”

Newt went very still, then after a moment he nodded. Finally, he looked back at Hermann. His eyes were red rimmed, and he studied Hermann’s face as if struggling to understand some new phenomenon with a sort of quiet wonder. Then he released Hermann’s hand, and before he could feel the sting of the loss, Newt held out his arm. 

“We should hurry up, huh? Got a lot of time to make up for, and I can’t take you on a fancy date if we’re stuck down here, can I?” Newt said wryly. His voice shook only a little, the misery replaced with a hint of anxiety as he looked between his arm and Hermann. “We gotta get out of this place.”

Could it really be this simple, this natural? Hermann reached out a tentative hand and entwined his arm with Newt, who easily shifted his weight to offer support. Just as he had in that frantic final day of running through the halls of the Shatterdome, and later in those first early tentative months of their nameless something, as if Hermann belonged there, as if it was second nature. 

They began to walk, and after a while, Newt started humming to himself, eventually resolving into half-sung words. “… _If it’s the last thing we ever do, we gotta get out of this place, girl—“_

_“There’s a better life for me and you_ ,” Hermann finished. Newt’s head whipped towards him, staring in unabashed shock, earlier misery forgotten. 

“You like that old song?” Newt said incredulously.

“ _Like_ is a strong word,” Hermann said dryly. “But… after we Drifted, I did find my music appreciation had broadened.”

A grin spread across Newt’s face. “Badass.” And with that, and somewhat to Hermann’s regret, he burst back into song.  A song that, after a moment, Hermann found himself singing along too, as they walked arm down into the caverns of Newton’s mind. 

_We gotta get out of this place, if it’s the last thing we ever do…_

 

* * *

 

Hermann could only be thankful that except for that vision, Newt’s mind seemed otherwise unoccupied by the actual demons of Hell. Their path was a constant downward spiral, but there was no river to cross, no Charon to ferry them over the Acheron. The sound of their intertwined (and certainly horrible) voices had faded out at the end of the song, and he took comfort in how it seemed to have raised Newt’s spirits. 

He could not say which of them saw it first. But there was a subtle change in the air when they rounded a corner, a change in the light emanating in a malicious, menacing _pulse_ from down the hall, the slick, sucking sounds of suction on glass walls. Newton going rigid beside him. 

“It’s her,” Newt whispered. Hermann stumbled as Newt took a step back, heels digging into the cavern floor as he struggled backwards from the sight. “Nono _no_ , I can’t go down there.”

“What is it?” Hermann said, struggling to keep his feet as Newt dragged him backwards. 

“ _Alice,_ ” Newt breathed.

“Your girlfriend?” Hermann said. His stomach dropped to somewhere beside his feet. Of course, _Lust_. How could he have ever assumed that this level would have anything to do with him and Newton?

But Newt was shaking his head, and his hand snatched at Hermann’s arm, squeezing it hard. “She wasn’t. They just wanted you to think that. If They couldn’t have you, They wanted to keep you away.”

Hermann frowned, a sense of dread welling in him at the naked terror in Newt’s voice. “We never found this Alice. I assumed she was your accomplice, if she ever existed at all, and that she fled once you were captured.”

“What? You didn’t see her when you searched my place? You _must_ have searched my place,” Newt said, jerking back to look at Hermann. 

Hermann shook his head warily. “I wasn’t there, but I heard. The unit was incinerated before the search teams reached it. I assumed you, or the Precursors, must have destroyed it to cover their tracks should some element of the plan fail.”

“God. Yeah, it’s not like I’d need her anymore, if the world was destroyed.” Newt gave a hysterical giggle under his breath that turned to harsh breaths as if he were on the verge of a panic attack. “Hermann, I can’t go down there.”

“There’s no other way,” Hermann said. He placed his hand on Newt’s shoulder to steady him, and felt him shaking. “Newton, the Precursors are gone now. None of this is real. It is only a vision we must face before we pass on.”

“Easy for you to say,” Newt said through pale lips. A muscle twitched in his cheek as the yellow glow bathed his terrified face. But slowly, the frantic heaving of his chest eased, and he nodded. When Hermann pushed him forward he did not resist, but tension sparked through Newt with every step closer to the bile-yellow glow of the vision before them. 

Newt reached out to it as if hypnotized, fingers shivering as he placed them on the pulsing, hungering glow of the vision…

…and vanished.

Hermann sucked in a breath in shock, and with a strangled shout dove in after.

 

_It was Newt’s flat again, but this time organized, an expensive espresso maker sitting on the marble kitchen counter, window shades open in the living room to take in a truly impressive penthouse view of Shanghai. There was barely any furniture, and what there was was minimalist in its design._

_Hermann startled at the sight of it, turning around to take in what was likely the cleanest space Newt had ever entered, much less resided in. Had he only the wherewithal (_ the lack of jealousy, _a corner of his mind hissed) to accept Newt’s invitation, he might have guessed something was amiss from the sight alone, if he hadn’t assumed they were in the wrong flat. There were no band posters, no clutter at all. It was utterly sterile, and Newt was nowhere to be seen._

_Hermann walked further in, his movements languid in the vision’s throes, as if pushing through water. There was a short staircase leading to the bedroom, the room beyond awash in shadows but for a yellow light pulsing just around the corner._

_A sense of unease and subtle wrongness crept up Hermann’s spine with each painful step up the staircase, and the sound of his footsteps and cane had a muffled, dreamy quality. The room contained a low, ultra-modern bed, a nightstand, a chair, and…_

_Newt hooked to a Pons, raw cables and cords stretching black and red to the unseen corner of the room, to the source of that pulsing, bile-yellow light._

_A Kaiju brain, its veins reaching out, sucking at the glass as if seeking Newt’s body. Scrawled in a childish hand across the glass in dripping red, a single word:_

_ALICE_

_Hermann’s hand flew to his mouth, forcing down a wave of nausea as the… thing, seemed to reach for him. Sprawled in the chair with the Pons blinking red in his hair, Newt shuddered as if in seizure, or ecstasy. Soft cries and breathless moans broke from Newt’s lips in little panting gasps. His fingers curled and uncurled while his body shivered in wave after wave of pleasure, joined with this disgusting creature._

_“Newton!” Pain lanced up Hermann’s knee as he crouched down beside Newt, a horrible parody of that day over ten years ago when he had found Newt twitching on the floor of their lab. This was far worse. Alice. Had Newt Drifted again willingly, or had the Precursors stolen his will and forced him to do so? How many times? Was this how they had taken hold of him, sunk their influence into his brain, and locked him inside his own body?_

_“Wha-? Hermann?” Newt’s eyes fluttered open, a violent shade of green in the yellow light of the pulsing brain._

_“Come now, Newton, we must get you out of this,” Hermann said, searching frantically for a button. It was a custom model, nothing like the garbage Newt had used in the Shatterdome. The circuits for the neural pathways were enlarged, the wires simply enormous. It appeared as if it were designed for maximum neural connection, to a staggering, dangerous degree. There was no switch that Hermann could see._

_“Hermann, I—” Newt’s eyes rolled back, a wave of bliss washing over his face, followed by a wince of pain. “s’good, Herm, made it feel s’good…”_

_“Triggering endorphins most likely,” Hermann muttered. Analyzing a problem had always calmed his nerves, but his mouth babbled as his fingers checked the mechanism, the wires, searching for_ something. _“Giving you rushes of pleasure that would addict you to the process and override the natural pain of Drifting with an incompatible partner. Good God, Newton, how many times did they do this to you?”_

_“…day,” Newt slurred._

_Hermann’s hands paused. “How many days?”_

_“Day, ‘Erm,_ day _,” Newt’s throat worked. “E’ry day.”_

_Hermann froze. Every day. Over 3,000 times depending on when he acquired the brain. Maybe more if they did not limit themselves to a single session per twenty-four hours._

_Memories of screaming creatures and gnashing teeth, of vomiting until there was nothing left in his stomach after just_ one _Drift with a Kaiju brain—and that one balanced by another human being with whom he was highly Drift compatible—still gave Hermann nightmares to this day._

_Unless… unless those more recent nightmares had been nothing of the sort, but rather ghost Drift with Newton’s waking nightmare?_

_Hermann shook himself, for down that path lay madness. Or truth, which was no better, but he could not think of that now. “Come now, Newton, I need your help. How do I remove this device without killing you?”_

_But Newt’s eyes had rolled back into his head. His back arched and his mouth dropped open, as another shuddering wave passed through his body, the hungry, sucking sound of the brain behind them._

_Hermann snarled, and reached once more for the Pons._

_His hands passed straight through. He frowned, reaching again with the same result. His hands were translucent. Newt shivered before him, the sound of the sucking brain wavering and warping like a badly tuned radio. The bile-yellow of the room’s light began to wash gray, Newt fading with it._

The session was ending.

_“No,” Hermann breathed. “No! Newton you must wake up_ now _!_ _I’m out of time, you must get out of here on your own, they’re pulling me…”_

 

* * *

 

“…out!”

Hermann jerked awake to blinding white hospital lights. His face was damp, and when he reached to touch his cheeks in confusion, his fingertips came away wet. His knee was stiff to the point of agony, every part of him ached, but more importantly…

“Pentecost!” Hermann roared, struggling like a turtle on his back to get to his feet. “How dare you pull me out? How _dare_ you?”

“I gave you three extra hours,” Jake replied. His arms were crossed and he leaned against the wall of the room. “If you don’t have him out by now, we may need to pull the plug on this attempt, Gottlieb.”

“I had him!” Hermann retorted. His knee nearly gave out, and he clutched Newt’s hospital bed for support, gesturing to Newt as he shouted. “He’s in there, right now fighting the demons we left him to face alone! Put me back under _now_ , or so help me—!”

“Dr. Gottlieb,” Jake said, and never before had he looked so much his father’s son, not since becoming a Marshal, not since the war, the invasion, and the bomb. Hermann’s teeth clicked shut on instinct for obedience to authority hardwired into his auditory nerve before it reached his conscious mind. “I need you to chill. Take a few breaths. Then I need you to explain to me, slowly, exactly how much more time you need and why.”

“I need as much time as it takes to free him from there!” Hermann said. 

Jake sighed. “I’m not trying to be cute with you, doc. We need a full report so we can assess any risks you may be suffering from prolonged Drift exposure. I’d also like to have a therapist work with you to make sure you’re not chasing a rabbit of your own making. Once you’re cleared, we can discuss allowing you back in. We may even be able to skip the prescribed week, if the situation is as bad as you say.”

“It most certainly is,” Herman squawked. “So dire that, as the man who helped _develop_ the Jaegers that are your only claim to competence, Pentecost, I _demand_ you forgo this farce and let me back in this instant.” 

Jake’s expression hardened. “Assessment first, then we’ll talk. This is for your own good.” 

Hermann teetered forward, hand catching at Jake’s sleeve just as he turned to leave the room. “Please, Jacob,” he pleaded, changing tactics. “We are so close. I can’t leave him alone in the darkness another second longer. I cannot bear the thought.”

“But how much longer are we talking?” Jake said. “I’m not trying to be bastard. But I need to know your best guess.”

Bitterness welled within Hermann, and he hung his head. “As many as seven more sessions of similar length, if not longer.”

“So contrary to what you _just_ said, you’re nowhere near done.” 

“No.”

“Then I’m telling you, you need to pace yourself, Gottlieb. Be realistic. Dr. Geiszler has been down there a long time. He can manage one night without you.”

Hermann’s head perked up, “One night? Not a week?”

“I’ll have a talk with the nurses. Your brain scans came back just as you said they would, no signs of fatigue from a six hour Drift. You and Geiszler must be _crazy_ Drift compatible for that to be true, by the way. With that in mind, I’ve got some authority to allow daily sessions, as long as you get sleep and a debrief between them. But Gottlieb,” Jake waved a finger in his face, “this is not a blank check to go off the deep end, yeah? We’re trusting you to report your fatigue levels _honestly_. If I find out you’ve been lying to get more time, I gotta pull the plug, understood?”

Hermann nodded frantically. “Yes sir, absolutely, understood. Thank you.”

Jake gave him a companionable squeeze on the arm, and nodded for the nurse to begin taking Hermann’s report. He looked back at Newt, still pale and motionless upon the bed, sunken into the pillows, with not a flicker on his face to betray whether any of that remarkable mind was left. 

It only meant he would have to keep searching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, snail memory wiping is real and it's already a thing. Interesting stuff that informed the chapter, I imagine the Precursors as hyper advanced biological engineers consider targeted memory wipes to be kid's stuff.
> 
> Please consider leaving a comment if you have a moment to spare!


	5. Lust, part 2 - Newt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no greater pain, than to remember happy times in misery, and this your teacher knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One song per chapter: "Favorite Color Is Blue" by Robert DeLong, K.Flay - In general this is my background soundtrack for Newt under Precursor control, and I recommend a listen!

_Hermann?_

Newt’s buddy, his nemesis, his guide (holy shit, his _lover?_ ) winked out, and that was… ok, really freaky, but also fine. It was totally fine because that’s when the rest of the world would wink out too and Newt would be back floating in the blackness, which was _way_ better than being stuck in this memory.His brain was hitting the edge of hypersensitivity from just the _echo_ of the Pons link to Alice, images and feelings and _Them, the Precursors always watching him, looking out for him, touching him and Them and Them and Them. Only They cared about him, only They wanted to help him if he was just good enough, smart enough, and if he came back to Them like a loyal lover, like a loyal little bug that had walked into their lion’s den with open arms and a stupid grin about how the worst thing that could happen was Hermann finding his corpse._

Hermann faded out and They… didn’t.

Newt’s fingers scrabbled at the arms of the chair, painfully, achingly _solid_ beneath his nails.

Alice crooned in his ear, _singing our song, baby,_ as visions of a behemoth creatures with spidery limbs under an acid sky wavered in and out of his vision.

Welcoming him home.

Reminding him how good it felt to _be_ home.

Newt whimpered, and scrunched his eyes shut, but it only made the visions stronger.

Another wave of pleasure, sharper than the last, and when his nose began to bleed he tasted iron on his lips like a kiss, _and what else is a kiss supposed to taste like anymore?_

_Hermann, buddy, you gotta get me out of here. I can’t do this alone._

_I’m not strong enough._

 

* * *

 

It always felt cold when he came out of the Drift with Alice. Newt had chalked it up to the loss of the pure, unadulterated, toe-curling pleasure of Drifting with _Them_. After that, wouldn’t everything feel cold?

They didn’t usually let him spend this much time in the Pons, though. It’s what made his moments with Alice so special, something to be savored. Here, away from the stress and bustle and _exhilaration of seeing their plan come together, one percentage at a time_ , loneliness of Shao Industries, it was sometimes easier to just relax and drink himself into a stupor when his fingers itched to put the crown of the neural link back on his head but no, not this time, not until he was _good_ again would he get to feel _good_ again…

But they didn’t stop him this time. He spent the night in Alice’s embrace, hours drifting on waves of ecstasy, Drifting on a link with another world, where he wasn’t alone, where they (not _They_ ) hadn’t abandoned him. If They didn’t make him stop, he wasn’t going to, he would stay here in the Drift, in the embrace, he would stay here where he wasn’t alone. He would stay here where it wasn’t cold.

There was a babble of voices… or, no. One voice. A spike of alarm went through Newt’s skull because he paid well to not be disturbed when he was at home. He couldn’t let them see Alice, not when she wasn’t presentable. Irritation followed alarm that he’d have to end his session and leave the waves of bliss and—below that, far below that, the struggling screaming voice in his gut that babbled and begged that _this is wrong, fuck, someone get me_ out _of this thing._

The Pons released his skull like a claw, and there were cold fingers touching his face. Newt hung heavy and boneless, a strip of drool running from his parted lips mingling with the blood from his nose and raised bleary eyes up to see the last face he ever expected.

He smirked. “Hey, Herms, finally taking me up on that dinner invitation? Alice will be so _thrilled_.”

Hermman’s face, that weird face with all its angles and imperfections, was so close he could feel his breath, could make out the little veins in his stupid human eyes, make out the shaking of his hands as he tossed the Pons as far as the cables would allow, with no thought at all about the delicacy of the machinery. It hardly mattered. Newton had built it to be sturdy.

He cocked his head to the side and gave a lazy grin. “Just like old times, huh? Always arriving just a _little_ too late.”

“I came back as soon as I could,” Hermann said in a rush. “As soon as Pentecost would allow it. Tell me you haven’t been in that contraption all night?”

“ _All night long,_ babe _,_ ” Newt sang. Fuck he’d forgotten how _good_ it felt to be with Alice, how _right_. Who needed Hermann? Who needed any of those guys? Who needed the _world_ , when bliss was at his fingertips and perched on his skull?

“We need to find a way out of here, can you stand?”

“And go where?” Newt let his head fall back, lazing about in the chair and only wishing the Pons was back on so the cold would go away. “They’re going to destroy the world, Hermann. There isn’t going to be anywhere _to_ go after that. You can help out. They want you too and I mean, what’s so great about the world anyway?” He was slurring his words, feeling relaxed like he’d downed a bottle of fine wine, the four-figures kind that his salary with Shao bought him.

“I know you don’t really want that, Newton. Just as I know you are strong enough to fight back,” Hermann’s voice was so _tense_ , so _worried_ all the time. And his fingers were so _cold_ that Newt flinched from them as they gripped his face to gently clean his nose and mouth, then to tilt his head back, as Hermann continued his examination, thumb pressed at his eyelid like Chau’s had when they’d gotten into his brain after the first Drift, the corruption, worm in the apple that even that one-eyed bitch could see. And from there They’d started climbing and digging and slithering into his skull, taking up all the space and throwing out everything They didn’t need, and god the Drift really was like wine, he was going to be sick…

“Put me back in,” Newt whimpered. He forced his eyelids shut despite Hermann’s fingertip and flinched away. “Just let me stay in there. What’s the point in getting me out, huh? They failed. I failed. Everyone out there hates me now even though, _hah_ , they didn’t lift a finger to stop it until it was too late. Always arriving too late, just like you. Figuring it out just a few seconds _too late_.”

“I know.”

Warmth pressed to his forehead, and Newt frowned but the headache was getting worse, post-Alice withdrawal. Soon he’d have to wake up. He’d have to put on the monkey suit and go back to the office and past the laptop with its 3,200 emails to Hermann that he wasn’t allowed to send. He’d vomit in the bathroom until They were satisfied that he’d purged all the wine from his system, and he’d put on sunglasses to dim the light to his stupid human eyes and make the sky the right shade of noxious yellow. He’d go out there and be alone except for underlings who jumped at his orders, and a boss who hated him, until he could come back to Alice’s embrace. The only embrace that he felt anymore, except now there was warmth pressed to his forehead.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I am so sorry, Newton.”

He opened his eyes, and Hermann was above him, their foreheads pressed together, left hand twined in his hair. His face was flushed and taut with misery. His other hand was braced on the chair’s arm, next to Newt’s hand, and that posture must have been murder on Hermann’s leg. His right thumb arched back and forth, back and forth over Newt’s hand.

_… His fingers tightening around Hermann’s throat, the world going black as They pushed him down and pushed him down and he could barely see Hermann anymore, could only gasp out a warning, an apology, a plea, “I’m sorry, Hermann. They’re in my head.” Not even sure if Hermann heard it. Not sure if the gunshots were real. Not sure if Hermann was already dead but remembering that thumb on the back of his hand, back and forth, and it felt like forgiveness and he could have wept and screamed that it felt like forgiveness when there was nothing else he could do when there was so little he could do, he wasn’t strong enough…_

“What would you have done?” Newt rasped.

 _What the hell could you have done?_ Newt didn’t say. Even if he—They—had convinced Hermann to come by it would have ended with a bloodstain on Newt’s floor or the Precursors with a second servant, the world’s best chance at _some_ kind of salvation gone with him.

He was fucking _glad_ Hermann hadn’t done anything. The Newt on this day years ago wouldn’t have _wanted_ anything to be done, not with the coked-out, fucked up bliss of _Alice_ on the brain. Not with that sick and twisting feeling of _wrongness_ buried down so deep it was somewhere near his spleen. It wasn’t Hermann’s fault. None of it was.

But still.

“Besides ripped that thing from your head and taken my cane to the abomination in that tank?” Hermann said, his voice shaky and self mocking. “Besides taken liberties to try to remind you of a time together you no longer remember, because they stole that from you too? And besides all that, possibly dying at your feet because I very much doubt such sentiment would have been enough to still an alien and uncaring hand? I don’t know. I don’t know, Newton, except I would have been there. And were there nothing to be done, I would have stayed, and spent the rest of my days looking for a way to help you free yourself, just as I’m doing now. But, as you said, I am always too late for these things, no matter my intentions.”

After Hermann had faded, Newt had spent hours hooked up to the memory of that creature in the tank. Hooked to that glimpse, that taste of the sickly sweet years he had spent like this, and he couldn’t get out. No darkness of the void to welcome him this time, only an endless drawn out moment in the vision, like the single note of a scream.

...But suddenly the Drift with Alice didn’t feel so warm anymore, or the bliss so kind, and the only thing that felt real was the forehead pressed to his and the fingers clenched in his hair, and the man in front of him apologizing for something that wasn’t his fault.

“You never know, that might have worked.” Newt’s voice cracked as he spoke, as he reached over and took Hermann’s hand in his, running his own thumb back over Hermann’s hand in return. “Actually, you know what? Yeah. I think it would have worked,” Newt said, and surged up to kiss Hermann.

Maybe the real Hermann would have stiffened at the unexpected touch, at ‘taking liberties’ as he’d so pompously put it. Newt knew intellectually it should feel fake that this Hermann didn’t flinch away, and that he was actually a pretty good kisser.

He also shouldn’t be so fucking relieved when Hermann kissed him back without a second’s hesitation, sighing and soft against his lips, those long fingers tightening in his hair. It shouldn’t feel like coming home in the center of this sterile nightmare of an apartment, lit by the noxious glow of his own demons. It shouldn’t be a kiss that felt so familiar, like they’d done it a hundred times.

_…a time together you no longer remember, because they stole that from you too…_

But then, maybe this was exactly how it was supposed to be, exactly as familiar as it was supposed to feel. And he didn’t want to be in this damned chair anymore, with Hermann hovering over him, probably in pain from his leg, because Newt was all tangled up in some Kaiju’s fucked up brainwashing, stoned out of his mind from Drifting with the wrong partner.

Newt grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, fumbling with the extra arms and legs involved with keeping his mouth on Hermann’s while his brain was still stuck in the fog. But he knew this, at least, that he didn’t want to go back there anymore, that he wanted to be _here_ , with Hermann kissing him back not like the awkward dweebs they admittedly both were, but like they were goddamn soulmates, like they were partners again. Partners who had _saved the fucking world_.

And when Newt opened his eyes, the room was gone.

There was only Hermann, his eyelids still closed and lips part from the kiss, inches away as if asking for more. Wow. Yeah, Newt could get used to this. And with the vision gone, his head didn’t feel so foggy and there was no pulsing glow of Alice to drag him back down.

And there was something else in his head too. A niggling thought, just a flash, like the few moments after waking when the night’s dreams are still crystal clear…

_…Curled up on the couch, Hermann’s thumb running over the back of his hand, the thing between them still unspoken but growing. The opposite, the antidote to the shadow at the back of his brain that would soon take him from there, and take everything from him._

_“Bed soon, darling?” Hermann said, and Newt gave a sleepy mumble of protest. Then Newt felt warmth pressing against his throat and he tilted his head back with a sigh as Hermann nuzzled at him, kissing at his jawline and up to his lips, until they were making out like a couple of teenagers on the couch while the movie credits rolled, unnoticed._

_He could feel Hermann’s smile against his lips, one of the best feelings. Hermann_ never _smiled before but now it was his favorite sight in the world, and Newt’s hand was slipping up under Hermann’s shirt and Hermann made a pleased, encouraging sound in response, humming against his lips and his hands went to the buttons on Newt’s shirt, working down…_

“Hey,” Newt said as he broke the kiss, but pressed their foreheads together, nuzzling close. At that Hermann opened his eyes. They flickered between Newt’s face and to the side as they took in the cavern now free of visions. “I don’t think you’re a hallucination anymore.”

“That’s a relief,” Hermann huffed, though he still sounded a bit dazed. “I’m ever so comforted to know you no longer question my very existence. ...What changed?”

“Well first of all, your timing fucking sucks, and I never would have hallucinated my guide vanishing on me because of a goddamn Pentecost, just seconds before an alien brain gets its tentacles on me again.”

“That was hardly my fault,” Hermann said, looking uncomfortable. “And as I said, I returned as soon as those fools in medical would allow it.”

Newt pulled back enough to give a tired nod of acknowledgement and pursed his lips, the next thought sitting heavy in his stomach. “Also I… uh, remembered. Some of before, and it checks out with what you said.”

“Before…?” Hermann frowned in confusion.

“Before I left the PPDC. Memories, stuff I used to think were dreams. You _were_ different after. More open. You smiled more. All in all, way better than anything I could have made up.” Newt looked down, and his hand traced his opposite arm, down his tattoo of the face of Yamarashi. “Those assholes really did a number on us, huh?”

“Yes,” Hermann said, and took his hand to stop Newt’s fidgeting. “But we made them pay for it.” Newt looked up and saw the faint smirk on Hermann’s lips. “And we’re not out of time yet. They are.”

Newt barked a startled laugh, and his fingers tightened around Hermann’s. “That’s dark, dude. I like it. But uh, how much time do we actually have here?” Hermann’s expression fell from the previous, well, Newt flattered himself to think it was euphoria. The tiny smile flattened. “You keep getting pulled out at, have I mentioned, the _worst_ times. I can’t imagine they’re gonna let you Drift with a vegetable forever. What are our odds here?”

“I’ve negotiated for nine hour sessions.” Hermann grimaced. “Daily. But they’ve threatened to end the sessions if I show signs of fatigue or ‘chasing the rabbit’. I don’t believe Pentecost is convinced you and I are really speaking, but at least he’s humoring me for now. But time runs differently here. I have no proper sense of how long we have at any given moment.”

“So we’d better hurry up?” Newt said. Nausea twisted at the back of his throat at the thought. Each vision was like the worst kind of VR sickness, mixed with vertigo and a nice dash of a truly godawful hangover. “Do we even know if we’re doing this right?”

Hermann sighed. “I’ve had some time to think on this outside, and speak to a therapist. She and I agree that _perhaps_ we’re interrupting the memories of your traumas. Re-writing them to some extent, albeit imperfectly. There may be another element I don’t fully understand yet. But the key seems to be to disrupt each memory before we can travel further.”

“So our best bet is to speed run this bad boy,” Newt said. “I go in, you break me out, _bam_ , onto the next one, and we stop in between if you start fading out so we don’t get _that_ again.” He nodded towards the empty room, suppressing a shudder of disgust at the memory of being caught in the vision for hours while Hermann was gone. Yeah, sitting in an empty cavern bored out of his mind was way better than that. “Sound good?”

“I’m not sure a ‘speed run’ is the best idea, but…” Hermann frowned. “I don’t see any other way. And it’s Gluttony, by the way. I can only imagine what that would entail.”

“Tell me about it, those bastards had me doing _Crossfit_ ,” Newt groaned. “Seriously, Crossfit. _Me_. Literally, the douchiest form of exercise _ever_. They could have at least blacked me out for it but nooo, gotta keep the meat vessel in prime condition.” Yeah, that one still stung, just like every other modification they’d done to his body. The Lasik, the suit fittings. Admittedly those indignities were way down at the bottom of the list of fucked up shit the Precursors had done to him, but he could still be pissed about it.

“I did notice certain changes…” Hermann shuffled his feet and Newt gave a gasp of outrage as he rounded on him.

“You _liked_ them?”

Hermann startled. “I had no such opinion! It was several years since I’d seen you, and we were getting older. It was only sensible that you finally picked up a fitness routine and....”

“ _And?_ ”

“... Developed a modicum of fashion sense,” Hermann muttered.

“ _Douchey_ fashion sense!” Newt shrieked.

“Well, yes, but it did flatter you, and it was only in keeping with your status! I could hardly have suspected that the malicious alien lifeforms in your brain had better fashion sense than you! I can barely say that aloud, it’s so absurd!”

“They were trying to get me to _blend in_ at a corporate hellhole so They could enact Their _evil plan_. That wasn’t a makeover, I was body snatched!”

Hermann stared at him blankly. “Body what?”

“Snatched, you know like in that film…? Ugh, forget it, let’s go.”

“... But you will at least consider seeing that tailor again, won’t you?”

“ _No_ , Hermann!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you enjoyed! Please consider leaving a comment if you have the time, it would mean the world to me!


	6. Gluttony - Hermann

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And he to me: ‘Remember your science, that says, that the more perfect a thing is, the more it feels pleasure and pain.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One song per chapter: "End of the Line" by Henry Jackman, for ambience.

Hermann had not known what to expect when stepping into the next vision. It had shimmered before them in the air the color of smoked glass. At least this time, Newton had no visceral reaction of terror at the sight, but only seemed wary. His fingers had touched the shining, mirror like surface and pushed into it as if stepping through the skin of a soap bubble. Gone.

Hermann took a deep breath behind him—utterly unnecessary, an affectation of reality in this unreal space—and followed...

...Into the cavernous interior of a dimly lit bar. A cityscape glimmered outside tall windows, its lights a starlike backdrop for the dark leather furniture and black carpeting. Soft music played, too mellow to make out more than a suggestion of jazz. Figures sat at low tables, but they were only shadows, indistinct and faceless.

He recognized the shape of the city, with the red beacon of Tokyo Tower in Roppongi in the distance, and below Shibuya spreading out like a sea of neon stars. It would be years before such a sight would be visible again, and it would be forever changed if it ever did. The Mega Kaiju had decimated this part of Tokyo. This top floor bar was no doubt rubble now, a casualty of the kind of attack humanity had thought they could put behind them after the closure of the Breach.

Newt sat in the far corner, his head pressed to the window as he stared out at the lights. A bottle of wine sat before him, nearly empty. Even at this hour he wore sunglasses, but his tie was loose at his throat.

If this would have been year three, then it was 2028. In Tokyo. Which meant...

No.

Surely not, it wasn’t possible.

Hermann turned, and saw himself seated at the bar. He could almost taste the Japanese whisky he had sampled that night, courtesy of colleagues congratulating him for his keynote speech that afternoon. The Annual J-Tech Gala, held that year in the Cerulean Tower, Tokyo.

He looked back, and the lamps caught the lens of Newton’s glasses. Watching Hermann, or rather the memory of him, hunched over at the bar. His posture did not change at all as the real Hermann approached and pulled out the chair to sit across from him.

“You were there that night?” Hermann said. Just the thought felt as though someone had taken his heart and torn it down the center as neatly as a scrap of paper. Year three. There might have been a chance. The Precursors' hold might not have been so strong on him yet, the damage not yet done.

“It’s not like the head of Shao R&D can miss the biggest Jaeger tech event of the year,” Newt said in a dull sing-song. He took his wineglass by the stem and toasted it towards Hermann. “Not when Liwen wanted me there to keep an eye on the competition.”

At the bar, the other Hermann’s back was to them. Somewhere in that head was disappointment at a day spent scanning the floor for Newton, who the program listed as in attendance, and Hermann had exhausted himself jumping at every glimpse of a shorter, brown-haired man in a leather jacket. Until he was finally worn down to the point where he had accepted an invitation from his old Cambridge chums for a drink. And Newton had been right behind him all along, if only he had looked. If only he hadn’t given up.

“You followed me,” Hermann said.

“Nah,” Newt said. He drained the rest of his wine, and signaled to one of the passing shadows for more, before slamming the delicate glass down hard. “They wouldn’t have allowed that, oh no. But _Dr._ _Hermann Gottlieb_ isn’t the type for late night karaoke on the town. He’s going to order room service or, if some poor chump is lucky, Dr. Gottlieb might go up to the hotel bar for one, because with his leg he doesn’t like to walk too far. And maybe that poor chump won’t be blamed by his prison guards for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“But you didn’t reach out to me,” Hermann finished. “And I never turned around.”

“No _p_ e,” Newt said, popping the ‘p’. The shadow returned with a new bottle of wine, and poured Newton a sample. He sniffed it with far more snobbery than Hermann thought him capable of, and took a sip. “Couldn’t. But I remember I stayed until dawn,” Newt said. “Just in case you came back.”

The shadow poured the glass half-full, then to the brim at Newton’s imperious gesture. The label was clear even in the room of shadows, a Great Bordeaux, easily a thousand dollar bottle. Newt caught his eye as he read the label, must have read his expression too. “Funny how no one hassles the big spenders. The Precursors liked that. It helped when they needed to clean up…irregularities. The occasional weird outburst from the rich guy. After all it’s not crazy if you’re rich,” Newt took a long gulp of the wine, draining it by a quarter as if it were water, “just eccentric. Problems just go away when you’re throwing money around. No one bothers you, and if you pay them enough, they don’t let anyone else bother you either. ”

“But what if I had come over?” Hermann said intently. He leaned forward, his fingertips flexing on the table with the urge to reach over and pull Newton close. “What if I had _done_ something?”

“You think it would have mattered?” Newt snorted. He looked down into the glass, not meeting Hermann’s eye. “They would have had the script ready. _Hermann, long time, sorry I didn’t see you there, buddy, but I gotta jet. We should catch up. Come by my apartment sometime, you can finally meet Alice_.” He dropped out of the voice that fairly oozed obnoxious cheer, and spat the last word like it was poison. He took another long sip, draining the glass to the dregs, and refilled it.

“You should slow down,” Hermann said absently by way of answer. By way of saying anything at all in the face of the hopelessness of a night gone so many years before. 

“Or what, it'll _kill_ me?” Newton retorted with a dry laugh. “Alcohol dampens the connection, did you know that? Not as good as weed — _g_ _od,_ I miss weed—and not _nearly_ as good as the harder stuff. But it was the best of anything they’d let me have. They still had control, but at least I don’t _feel_ them watching.”

“Newton…”

“To gluttony,” Newt toasted. “Come to think of it, I should have realized this is what it would be. A glutton for punishment, that’s me.” He sank back in the chair, swirling the glass, his gaze drifting back to the bar.

The smirk fell from his face, the tightness from his body, as it all seemed to just give out at once. He looked wistfully at the back of the other Hermann, an expression of longing and pain so naked behind the sunglasses that Hermann felt the impulse to look away. To grant some measure of privacy to this man who was watched at all times by the demons in his head.

“It felt so… close, that night,” Newt whispered. “Like if I could just reach out, it would all be a bad dream.” His fingers twitched up from the armrest at his side, only to still, and fall back.

It was too much to bear. Hermann reached over and seized Newt’s hand, leaning forward against the phantom protest of his knee to do so. “If I had known, I would have done something, I swear. But we have to move on from here,” he said. “The speed run, remember? We can’t linger on what might have been.” He stole a glance at his other self, chatting away with his shadowy colleagues, never glancing back, and hated him for it.

“You’re always the one dragging me out,” Newton murmured. “Even out there. I spent fucking... _years_ trying to fight, and couldn’t even say a word They didn’t want me to. But the minute They almost killed you? _Bam_ , a whole five seconds of freedom of speech, baby.”

“You’re growing maudlin, and besides, you did far more than that,” Hermann said, and tugged at Newt’s hand. Newt only looked up at him owlishly.

“Yeah, like what? Did you dig up some treasure trove of warnings I didn’t know about, Herms? Look at me. You were right there, three meters away and I didn’t do a _damn_ thing, because I _couldn’t_.”

“Self pity doesn’t become you, Newton,” Hermann muttered. He could not bear the sight of Newt without a trace of his usual energy, despairing and defeated.

“I’d like to think I’ve earned just a _tiny_ dose of self pity after losing ten years of my life and everything in it that mattered to those assholes,” Newt muttered, and went to take another sip of wine. And something in Hermann _snapped_.

Hermann snatched the glass from Newt’s hand, ignoring his squawk of protest. The liquid slopped over the edge of the rim, dampening Hermann’s sleeve with what was likely hundred dollar droplets. “You think _you_ didn’t do enough? What about me? I lost you to them, and didn’t even know it for _ten years_ , because _that man_ at the bar found it easier to glut himself on self pity, just as he’s doing in this very instant, too blind to look around him. But by _God_ , I am not that man anymore, Newton. Every _day_ since I learned what they did, I have done everything in my power to avenge you. _I_ created the bomb that ended the war, a weapon of a magnitude they could not _conceive_ of with their pathetic volcano reaction. I became _death_ , and destroyed their _world_  to avenge the years they took from us. I turned their own _blood_ against them. There is no _knowing_ how far that explosion traveled, and may _still_ be traveling to this _day_.”

He was panting with fury and did not know when he had risen to his feet, gesturing with the dripping wine glass and his red-soaked sleeve. “But _he_ has no idea of any of that. That blissful idiot is going to live the next seven years of his life with no _idea_ of what he will become. And all it took for him to give up on you was a few unanswered calls because he let _self pity_ get the better of him. You were right here, doing all you could to end this nightmare, and he did not even have the decency to turn the _fuck_ around!”

Hermann turned, and hurled the wine glass at the bar. It exploded, spraying shards and wine against the other Hermann's back. The man started, outrage and shock twisting his feature as he stumbled to his feet, his hand flying to the soaked back of his head.

Then he turned to face the two of them.

Hermann jerked his thumb towards Newt, "He did it.”

The other Hermann gaped. Newt gaped.

Then his mirror image’s expression drew to a puzzled frown, and his gaze slid past him down to Newt. His eyes widened.

The room dissolved.

Newt gave an _oof_ as the chair vanished out from under him and he hit the ground. Hermann reached down without thinking, before any phantom pang from his knee could set in, and hauled him to his feet. Newt swayed, eyes glazed until they fixed on Hermann. “Well... mark me down as scared _and_ horny." Newt said in a strangled tone. "Uh, do you mind if I…?” 

Hermann’s face felt hot, and his chest heaved as if he had just finished a sprint, but he nodded absently at whatever Newt was babbling about. Fury coursed through his veins as he stared at the spot where his doppelgänger had stood. He barely noticed in time when Newt surged onto his toes to kiss him. 

Hermann’s eyelids fluttered shut, a sigh gusting from him against Newt’s lips. It should have been impossible, but Newt still tasted of wine, and when he kissed his technique was as messy and passionate as it had been all those years before, because drunk or sober, Newt never did anything neatly, or by halves. 

It was almost, _almost_ , enough to make Hermann forget what he had said, what he had done and failed to do all those years ago.

“Uh, sorry, I’m never really sure where the whole ‘few months of fucking that I don’t remember’ puts us,” Newt said breathlessly as he broke the kiss. “But if you want to, y’know, yell at people who aren’t me sometime while I watch, that would be cool. Or you can yell at me. Either way. I swear it’s not a kink.”

“We should get moving,” Hermann said tersely. Much as he would like it to never end, much as he would like this whole ridiculous trial to be over so they had that sort of time once again, they didn’t have it now and he began to walk towards the far end of the cavern before Newt could draw him back in. “We lost far too much time in there already, but with luck we can finish another circle before those imbeciles at the PPDC pull me out of here again.”

“Wait,” Newt said, and Hermann had to stop himself from wrenching his arm away as Newt took it, hanging onto his elbow and stopping him in his tracks. He flinched, and knew what Newt would say before he said it. “Is that true, what you did to the Precursors?”

“I’ve made no secret of it,” Hermann muttered. “I told you when I arrived that the war was over, and that a bomb ended it.”

“Yeah but… _you_ made it? Because of me? That’s, wow, I mean, you gotta admit that’s a little flattering. What you did was…”

“What I did? Was commit genocide, Newton,” Hermann’s voice was strained, strange in his ears, and hoarse from the shouting. “There is no way to determine the extent of the casualties in the Anteverse from that bomb. No way to ever find out how far the damage spread, or if there is anything left at all. And because of that, we will never know if the Precursors were the leaders of a homogenous world, or a small sect of violent outliers. Because, as you said so many times all those years ago, we never made peaceful contact with the only intelligent life form humanity ever encountered. We never communicated with them, and no one ever tried. Except for you, and you received no help for it, nothing but abandonment and recrimination.”

“I mean, there was a whole five minutes there where we had saved the world with that Drift and got to be big damn heroes,” Newt said, with a grin that quickly faltered. “And you helped. That was pretty huge in my book, man. Like, life-altering huge, I mean, you literally saved my life. Which may not have turned out as like a _net positive_ for humanity in the end, but I sure appreciated it.”

“Our Drift was intelligence gathering, in a war of self defense. The bomb I created after was for a war of retaliation, of annihilation, and it worked better than anyone dreamed. Oppenheimer himself would have _shuddered_ at the destruction that I unleashed,” Hermann snapped. 

It had been months before he could close his eyes and not see the spreading radius of _white_ devouring their remote sensors of the Anteverse, a thousand times larger their most outlandish models had predicted, without any sign of slowing. Before he didn’t hear Newton’s agonized scream from the surveillance feed the minute it detonated. “And all the while, I could only be glad in some small measure that you were not there to see me, and what I had done.”

Newt swallowed, all levity gone from his expression, leaving a terrible solemnity, a terrible pity that Hermann wanted no part of, deserved no part of. He flinched back as Newt’s hand came to rest on his cheek, his thumb scraping away the hot tears that Hermann did not realized had fallen. “Hey, you’re in luck,” Newt murmured, “because you might have found the one guy in the whole world who can imagine what that feels like.”

“Except you were the one looking for another way besides destruction,” Hermann retorted. “And no one listened. I didn’t listen. And now we’re at the end of our violent road with all the burdens of our choices. Those creatures used you, and it was a cruel irony that they used you, because you were the most peaceful of us. I have no such defense.”

“So what you’re really saying is that since I’m a cute lil’ Kaiju groupie, I don’t deserve any of this?” Newt snorted, and spread his hands. “That’s sweet of you, man. I wish I could frame every nice thing you just said about me and hang it on my wall for when we get out of here, but you are _completely_ wrong.”

Hermann started, and bristled, “What was it you said earlier about learning to _shut up_ and take the compliment, Newton?” 

“Hey! I understand, and I’m touched, really, but take it from said Kaiju groupie who, by the way, spent _ten years_ on a two way telepathic street with the Precursors because he’s an _idiot_ : you are _totally_ wrong about Them. They were fascists, man. They were conquerors. You think Earth was the first planet They eradicated? They’ve got billions _,_ if not _trillions_ of lives on Their hands. There were no nice Precursors somewhere on that planet, because They _killed_ them all. I mean, just my luck, right? Alien contact and I am _so_ ready to greet Earth’s first visitors, possibly make out with them, and we get the goddamn fascist aliens, am I right?” 

“ _Newton_.”

“ _Hermann_ ,” Newt mimicked. “You know you slip back into using my full name when you’re upset?”

“You cannot simply absolve me of this,” Hermann retorted. “There might have been another way, and now we’ll never know, and it is my fault.”

“Well, not to be all kindergarten about this, but They started it,” Newt said, but sighed. “You think I don’t know? You think I didn’t dream one day of figuring out how to reach out to the Kaiju, even after we learned about the Precursors? They were slaves just as much as I was. And maybe there was another way, but Hermann, there was _no_ negotiating with the Precursors. They were _never_ going to stop. Even if we managed to scare Them off from Earth, They would have just moved on to the next planet. I don’t know how many you took out. I don’t know if we can be forgiven, or if anyone is out there to forgive us. But for every _one_ of Them you took down? I can _promise_ you, you saved thousands of lives, on a thousand other planets. You’re not the destroyer of worlds, you’re a Defender of the goddamn _Universe!_ ”

“Really?”

“Yeah, _really_ , I—”

“No I mean, you’re really going to excuse my actions with a pop culture reference to Voltron?” 

“You _know_ about Voltron?” Newt gasped.

“I was on the team that designed the Mark 1 Jaegers, Newton.” Hermann rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m familiar with Voltron.”

“Oh my god, that’s right.” Newt’s eyes widened. “Ok, I knew that, but I have to ask because I’ve wondered ever since Schoenfeld got discredited: who the _fuck_  actually raised their hand in that boardroom after Trespasser landed and had the fucking _temerity_ to suggest that we use _giant robots_ to fight the Kaiju? Was it Lightcap? I _feel_ like it was Lightcap. This question has _haunted_ me since 2013, Hermann. I have to know.”

“I know you’re trying to cheer me up by changing the subject,” Hermann said flatly.

“Well duh, I’m trying to distract _both of us_ from how shitty our lives are, but if I’m doing that, it’s only because you did it first. But I am absolutely not joking when I say this: it was Lightcap, wasn’t it?”

“It was not Lightcap. At the very least you should walk with me while you ask inane questions that I refuse to answer.”

”Ho-ly _shit_.” Newt stopped again, and this time Hermann simply kept walking as Newt fell further behind him. “It was _you_.”

“It was not me,” Hermann shouted back over his shoulder. 

“No, it was totally you! Your dad was the head of the Jaeger program, but where would an old guy like that get the idea to use _robots_?”

“Kaiju blood was caustic, it was only sensible to suggest a weapon that could bludgeon rather than pierce or incinerate,” Hermann shot back. “There were many scientists in the early days at the think tank, it might have been any one of them who…”

“Uh huh?”

“Who _made the suggestion_ that was ultimately accepted. No one _raised their hand_ , it wasn’t a public vote. The submissions were anonymous to preserve the flow of ideas from professional censure, and the secret of who suggested what was carefully guarded to protect reputations. It is not a trust I would ever betray.”

“Oh, fine. So what’s that next Circle again?”

“Greed,” Hermann snapped, as Newt trotted to catch up with him. 

“Hey, Hermann.”

“I am not dignifying whatever you’re about to say next with a response.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need to, because the robots were totally your idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scientific Asides:
> 
> \- For anyone curious, there's a brief reference to Jasper Schoenfeld in this chapter, a character from the Pacific Rim comic "Tales from Year Zero" which introduces Caitlin Lightcap as well. In the comic, Schoenfeld takes credit for coming up with using giant robots for the Jaeger program and in a rather gross way frames all of Lightcap's achievements as resulting from his influence. I frankly can't stand the man, so I've given my spin on the tale here, that Schoenfeld was later discredited and revealed as a fraud for taking credit for the initial idea of the Jaegers, which as Hermann said here was a closely guarded secret to protect professional reputations that Schoenfeld leapt on when there was no one to contradict him. Putting all this into the chapter just seemed too wordy and unnecessary, but if anyone was curious, that's what Hermann and Newt are referring to. Who came up with the initial idea remains a mystery, but Newt has his theories.
> 
> \- The bomb functioned by using the same principles of rare earth metals as the Precursors envisioned with their Mt. Fuji bomb, only through a chemical reaction it would turn each Kaiju it encountered into a bomb that would transfer the reaction to the next, turning _it_ into a bomb and creating a domino effect that was intended to wipe out Kaiju production centers. None of the PPDC's projections, however, predicted that it would take out more than a small area, but something unexpected and unaccounted for in Anteverse native physiology made the explosion far more powerful than anticipated and made it jump faster and _further_ than anticipated. Given that the sensors shorted out before they saw the end of the explosion, Hermann deduced quickly through mathematical projections that it most likely covered the entire planet and reduced it to a cinder. Good riddance, I say. 
> 
> \- The bar they visit in the Cerulean Tower is a real location (which I've been to) called the Bello Visto. I doubt it's there any longer in the Pacific Rim universe after the Mega Kaiju decimated Shibuya.
> 
>  
> 
> **This may be one of my favorite chapters of the whole story, so if you enjoyed or have thoughts, please consider leaving a comment below!**


	7. Greed & Wrath - Newt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But you, my son, can see now the vain mockery of the wealth controlled by Fortune, for which the human race fight with each other, since all the gold under the moon, that ever was, could not give peace to one of these weary souls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One song per chapter: Hannibal Chau by Ramin Djawadi

By the time Newt oriented himself inside the memory that was Greed, he was leaning against a doorframe outside the television station for his first interview as head of Shao R&D. Hermann stood a little ways away, expression shadowed as he looked beyond Newt to the bright lights of the studio. 

“Y’know, this part almost wasn’t so bad,” Newt remarked. Say what you will about the douchey suits, but this one fit like a damn glove, and this interview was the closest he ever got to being treated like a rockstar. Which would have been way more awesome if he wasn’t secretly serving as the tool for Earth’s annihilation by evil alien masters, on top of having an entirely human boss who hated his guts.

But hey, at least when he put out his hand for a cigarette there was one between his fingers before he could say _now_. He hadn’t had one since MIT, and they were going to kill him, but that hadn’t looked like such a bad prospect at the time and his nerves needed it. Shao would kick his ass if he had alcohol on his breath on a day like today, but this was China, and no one gave a shit if he smelled like an ashtray.

“I remember this interview,” Hermann said distantly. “I remember I found it strange, but I couldn’t have told you why.”

“Aw, babe, you watched all my interviews?” Newt flashed him a grin, then took a drag of the cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs before puffing it out.

“Yes, of course I did,” Hermann said irritably. “It was one of the only ways I was able to see you in those years. Notwithstanding the fact you were speaking on the topic of _my_ field, on behalf of one of the world’s most sophisticated weapons manufacturers, and it was only sensible that I stay up to date on any announcements from Shao Industries.”

“I dunno, sounds like you had a crush on me. That’s embarrassing,” Newt smirked as Hermann rolled his eyes.

“It was not _about_ that. I had no trouble believing you could grasp the basics of Jaeger functionality, or acquire such knowledge quickly if necessary. But here you were speaking on a Chinese financial network like a man with ten years of experience in an entirely different field than the one I’d known you for.” Hermann frowned. “This interview might in fact have been my first inkling that something was wrong.”

“It was a five minute interview, man, you really think even _before_ we Drifted I couldn’t have come up with that much to say about Jaegers?” Newt scoffed. “Big smashy bit goes into Kaiju. Kaiju dies. Meat-head Jaeger pilots destroy all my samples. See, easy.”

Hermann snorted. “Indeed. But I remember how I wondered: why would _Shao_ hire a Kaiju biologist for a Jaeger drone program? But that wasn’t the question I should have been asking, was it? The real question was why the Precursors would move heaven and earth to put you at the center of her company, and then keep up the pretense for so many years? I should have come to the right conclusion the _instant_ I saw the Kaiju nervous systems intertwined with Jaeger cores. And I should have known on _some_ level years before that.”

“I mean, given the thousands of people at Shao Industries who let the evil clone program slip through the cracks, including yours truly, I think you’re _kind of_ overestimating how much blame you deserve here for not figuring out the whole ‘Precursor plan for world annihilation’ from a five minute interview back in 2029,” Newt pointed out.

“But I was the one person in the world familiar with the full extent of the expertise you possessed, and those you lacked. But I was far too proud of your accomplishments to say anything that might hurt your rise. Unless… hold up, I think I have an idea,” A thoughtful expression crossed Hermann’s face, and he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket to pull out a thin black mobile phone.

“Hey, where did you get _that_?”

“Mindscape, remember?”

“Oh, uh, right. But  _what_ are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Hermann said. He tapped the screen a few times, then placed the phone to his ear. “I’m destroying your career.”

“ _What?_ ” Newt shrieked. Instinctive panic rose at those words, and at the little smirk twitching at the corner of Hermann’s lips that was so much the _old_ Hermann, pre-Drift, before the _fr-_ in _frenemies_ really applied. When destroying his career was _legit_ something Hermann probably considered with delight on one of those days when the Kaiju entrails mysteriously found their way to his desk.

And then it clicked.

Newt’s eyebrows rose to his hairline and that smirk of Hermann’s wasn’t malicious, it was _infectious_ , because oh that was _brilliant_. Suddenly they were grinning at each other like a couple of idiots and must look pretty goddamn insane to all of the people around if they were actually, y’know, real.

“Oh, you are _bad_ ,” Newt snickered.

“You love me for it,” Hermann said archly and _winked_ , before he turning his face into his phone. “ _Wéi, nín hǎo_. Yes, English please. This is Dr. Hermann Gottlieb speaking. Yes, _that_ Dr. Gottlieb. Would you be so kind as to put me in touch with your network manager? This is in regards to your next speaker. You see, I was a colleague of Dr. Geiszler’s for some years at the PPDC, and believe it is important that you know this man is in fact a fraud on the subject of Jaeger tech, and has a long history of falsifying his credentials. Yes, I’ll hold.”

“Oh shit, Shao would have been so _pissed_ ,” Newt marveled.

“I’m counting on it. A public humiliation of her lead scientist, and of her corporation for allowing a fraud to slip past her hiring measures? That would certainly be a fireable offense, I’d imagine.”

“Dude, you don’t know Liwen Shao, that might have been an _execution-worthy_ offense,” Newt said fervently.

“And I don’t imagine the Precursors plan was at full fruition only four years in?” Hermann said. “Certainly not far enough along to work autonomously without your constant supervision?”

“Nah, have you seen the size of those Jaegers? They’d barely finished the ankles. ” Newt gnawed on his lip, and absently tossed the cigarette away as he thought. “It would have been back to square one.”

“Excellent,” Hermann said and perked up at a sound from the phone. “Yes, I’d be happy to send over my records of Dr. Geiszler’s non-classified research with the PPDC, and in addition I will include copies of several years of well-documented HR complaints for the disruption of our joint lab. I can say with absolute authority that this man has no business discussing J-Tech, indeed I have every reason to believe it is my research he is pawning off as his own.”

“Y’know, that brings up a good point. Spending time in your head has got to be at _least_ as relevant as a PhD’s worth of experience,” Newt mused. “Seriously, why didn’t anyone consider using the Drift for corporate espionage? Or research? Language learning? Picking up a second set of embarrassing childhood memories would _totally_ be worth it to skip my next thesis defense.”

Hermann blocked the cell phone with his hand. “Salvation of the world aside, I still find it _highly_ debatable whether my newfound understanding of Kaiju anatomy was worth it in exchange for a download of your boyhood knowledge of every single Pokémon.”

“Hey, that’s valuable information, you should be thanking me!”

Hermann opened his mouth to retort, but at a sound from the cell phone he waved Newt quiet. “Hush, Newton. I’m trying to get you fired for academic dishonesty.” He took his hand from the phone. “No, there is no need to cancel the appearance. I would be happy to debate Dr. Geiszler during his segment to make my point, and I believe it will be quite worth your while to air our discussion. I can vouch for its newsworthiness.”

There was a tap at Newt’s shoulder, and he turned to see a young lady with a microphone incline her head in greeting. “Dr. Geiszler, you are on in two minutes. Please come with me.”

Hermann waved Newt on, frowning in concentration at whatever the voice on the other end of the line was saying. The assistant ushered Newt onto the stage and he had barely taken his seat beside the interviewer when there was a rustle of conversation amongst the production team.

“Dr. Geiszler, it seems the network has received an unexpected caller with expertise on your topic. Would you be willing to share the interview in exchange for some extra time for your segment?”

Newt’s face began to hurt, and he realized it wasbecause he was grinning so hard it felt like it would split.

Would it have been enough to discredit him back then? Maybe. It might have been just enough to blindside the Precursors, who didn’t exactly have a fluent grasp of human media and the court of public opinion. It might have been enough to knock _him_ sufficiently off balance to accept the call on polite instinct, not thinking about the consequences, not tipping the Precursors in his head off to the risk.

Even if They had panicked and forced him off the air, Hermann would have kept talking, and with this being Newt’s first foray into public as a representative of Shao’s company.... It would have at least bought the world time while They started over, and bought chances for Hermann to discover the truth.

He didn’t know what would have happened next, but it wouldn’t have been the same.

“Oh, definitely! Who is she? He? I love talking tech, bring ‘em on.”

The room dissolved.

 

* * *

 

“I think we’re getting the hang of this! Have you got one more in you, Herms?”

A self-satisfied and vaguely predatory grin lingered Hermann’s face from the phone call. “If it is all like that one, certainly. You know, I never imagined I’d take such pleasure in destroying a colleague.”

“Aw, I always knew you had it in you, buddy,” Newt said, and gave Hermann a slap on the back. Yeah, another like that wouldn’t be so bad. Just gotta stay positive, not get sucked down the rabbit hole of despair, remember it was about disrupting the memory, not wallowing in it. “Next one is the halfway point. Circle Five. Do you think we have time?”

Hermann’s eyes flickering up and back in the way he did when making calculations. “Perhaps. It is hard to say, but the last Circle was brief. It would be easier to negotiate with Pentecost for longer sessions if they were fewer in number, and that would mean fewer breaks in our progress. I am willing to try for it if you are.”

“At the risk of absolutely jinxing us, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“The next stage is Wrath.” Hermann frowned. “I’m not sure. Can you recall anything in 2030—besides the usual—which would have made you particularly wrathful?”

 

* * *

  

_Pain exploded across Newt’s face, and he sagged against the ropes, blood and drool spilling from his mouth onto his tailored black suit._

_“Been a long time, Geiszler. What brings you back to Hong Kong?”_

_The tip of a blade touched the soft skin under Newt’s chin,  forcing his head up until he was looking into the scarred face of Hannibal Chau. His lackeys stood around him in what looked like the dusty backroom of a shop, a far cry from the gold-plated palace Newt had toured five years ago, looking for a second Kaiju brain._

_“Ch-chip inspection tomorrow in Shenzhen, for Shao Industries,” Newt stuttered as the blade rose, exposing his throat as he jerked to follow it. The memory of the Precursors stirred at the back of his mind, assessing, and Newt closed his eyes behind his sunglasses. “I’ll be out of the city by morning, totally out of your hair!”_

_“Well then isn’t it lucky we found you when we did,” Chau said pleasantly. Newt winced as the butterfly knife flipped, back and forth, snapping home in the metal sheathe. “You’ve got a lot to answer for, kid.”_

Kill him, _the Precursors muttered at the back of his head._

No, no way, we’re not going to kill anybody! _Newt thought back._ That is a dumb idea, I can’t express how bad of an idea it would be for a Shao executive to murder a bunch of people. Let me talk us out of this! Chau and I go way back.

_The Precursors seemed to consider his words, then withdrew, the hive mind murmuring to itself in its constant susurration, alert and watching his every move._

_“If this about money, Shao can pay you. They’ve got a fund for kidnapped execs,” Newt babbled. Pain pulsed in his right cheek from the punch, turning the skin hot and tight. “There’s a phone, in my pocket, it’s got their number. And let me tell you, I’m worth a_ lot _to Liwen. She and I are tight, man, best bros. She’ll hand over millions to get me back.”_

_“We’re not here for that kind of chump change, twerp,” Chau said. He snapped his fingers and a lackey deposited a vial in his hand. “You see this? Kaiju blood. There’s hardly any left these days, but this sample is as fresh as they get. Someone is scooping up every scrap of Kaiju anatomy left in the world and doing something with it, and I want to know who.”_

_“Dude, I’m working with_ Jaeger _tech these days. I’ve been out of the Kaiju business since the Breach closed. I can’t help you!” Newt protested, his voice rising to a screech as he babbled._

 _“Really? Because I’ve been tracking Shao’s manufacturing shipments,” Chau leaned in close, his voice rumbling in Newt’s eardrum as he spoke. “And that’s a hell of a lot of biotech equipment for ‘Jaegers’ going up to Siberia. Ammonia. Formaldehyde. The stuff you’d need to store Kaiju parts, maybe even start_ making _some of your own. But for that you’d need a supplier, and you’re going to tell me who it is if you want to walk out of here alive.”_

Oh shi— _The pain faded. Darkness flooded the edges of Newt’s vision and the volume of Chau’s deep bass voice faded to a buzz._

He knows. _Voices hissed at the back of his head, the same voices that told him_ he wasn’t strong enough, not smart enough...

Let me handle this, _Newt pleaded._ We can call the cops, or Shao’s security. We can discredit them. No one is going to listen to a bunch of mobsters!

_But the darkness was thick and choking as mud, forcing his vision to a pinprick. Distant pain shot up his arms as they flexed, pressing against the ropes._

_It was a stupid, fragile little human shell to the Precursors, but if you overrode its limits, if you pushed past its failsafes, it could do amazing things. Amazing, painful things, that Newt was almost glad they pushed him down for, even if it meant he was stuck watching helplessly._

_“Ha! Look at this, boys, he’s trying to get out,” Hannibal leered, glancing back to share a laugh with his thugs._

Run, you idiot, _Newt thought frantically, at a man who had taunted the not-quite-dead corpse of a Kaiju, and by the way, how was this guy even_ alive _to kidnap him off the streets of Hong Kong after getting chomped down by Otachi’s baby?_

 _But the replay was happening all in slow motion, only_ he _was Otachi’s baby now, and the Kaiju that Hannibal turned his blind eye to was a Precursor’s tool strapped to a chair, and if he could have, Newt would have closed his eyes then when the ropes_ snapped _._

_A ripple of shock spread through the room at the sound. Chau whipped around, an expression of puzzlement dawning on his ragged face--and who could blame him--when a shrimpy guy in an overpriced three-piece suit was advancing on him like some sort of masked killer from a horror movie?_

_A thug shoved a gun in Newt’s face by his second step, and if he had been in control he probably would have flinched, and the escape attempt over as quickly as it began._

_But the Precursors didn’t fear guns, even if they should while riding around in Newt’s fragile human flesh prison. The thing was They just didn’t_ have _a mammal’s reaction to danger, no adrenaline to ride and overcome._

_They simply snatched the gun from the thug’s grip. All of that in a second, and Hannibal was still processing, his hand just begun to drop to the holster at his waist when They flipped the gun in Newt’s hand and—_

_Five gunshots._

_Red blossomed at the center of Chau’s chest, then the nearest thug, then the two behind Newt and the one at the door. Each bullet to the center of the body. Maybe the Precursors weren’t always 100% certain about human anatomy, but they seemed to get that shooting a biped in its center of gravity was a good way to bring it down._

_Newt was still shrieking somewhere inside his own head when They crouched down beside the gasping form of Hannibal Chau. Blood froth stood out at the corner of his lips, and the Precursors cocked Newt’s head to the side._

_“Who else knows about the supplies?” They said and it was not Newt’s voice coming from his own throat at all and_ fuck _that was going to hurt later, vocal chords weren’t supposed to_ do _that._

 _“What the_ fuck _are you?” Hannibal coughed. “Oh… shit. They got you, didn’t they? You fucking dumbass, I told you that connection went both—”_

_The Precursors pressed the muzzle of the gun to Chau’s forehead. “Who knows?”_

_“_ Everyone _,” Hannibal spat. “My whole crew. Kill me and they’ll know they were onto a_ big _payday.”_

I told you guys, _Newt groaned at the back of his own head._ We should have discredited them. Now we’ll never track down every—

_“You’re lying,” The Precursors said, and pulled the trigger._

Fuck! _Newt screeched. The Precursors rose to their feet, taking the sight of the spreading pool of blood out of Newt’s vision—thank fuck at least for small blessings—and surveyed the room._

 _It was Newt who spotted it, a second too late._ Uh, guys—?

_A smear of blood trailed behind one of the mobsters on the floor, and his hand shook as he pointed his gun up at Newt. The Precursors jerked Newt’s arm, whipping the gun level with the mobster but—_

_Heat spread through Newt’s shoulder, followed by a wash of cold, and even the Precursor-enforced strength wasn’t enough to stop his body as he stumbled back from the bullet’s impact, free hand flying to his shoulder, taking back an inch of control, the lowest level of the brain reacting on animal instinct, but the Precursors had control over the rest of him and they fired, once, and the man went limp._

_Newt’s body hit the doorframe as he stumbled out, the gun falling from nerveless fingers to the wooden floor. The room smelled of herbs and tea and when he burst out onto the bustling Hong Kong streets, Newt had barely a glimpse of the shop name before his eyes rolled back into his skull._

 

* * *

 

When he woke in the hospital, Hermann was there.

“What in God’s name was that?” Hermann snapped. “You had me completely locked out, Newton, all I could do was watch!”

His face was pale and severe, and as he spoke his hand unconsciously reached out to find Newt’s on the white hospital blanket, clutching at it.

“Hey man, it’s fine. It’s just a memory, right?” Newt croaked, and grimaced. A really fucking terrible memory, and he knew from his band days that his vocal chords were probably callused, shot to shit for at least a week after the Precursors did the Creepy Voice. He could feel an impressive shiner tightening his face, and the muscles in his arms were on fire, his forearms a mass of bruises so dark they discolored his tattoos. Using brute strength to snap ropes? _Ugh_. Human bodies weren’t supposed to _work_ that way, but try telling that to the Precursors.

“Yes, but some are harder to bear than others nonetheless,” Hermann murmured. “Are you in very much pain?”

“I shouldn’t be.” Newt winced as he forced himself up straighter in the bed. “But getting fucking _shot_ isn’t great even in memories, I guess. Or getting used like a Precursor’s own mini-Jaeger.”

“So the shooting _wasn’t_ you?” Hermann said, with some surprise and maybe a hint of—

“Don’t tell me you’re _disappointed?_ ” Newt squawked, or would have if it didn’t come out as more of a rasp. “They just used my body to shoot five people!”

“Criminals who were threatening to kill you first!” Hermann said, and added under his breath, “And, you must admit, it was an impressive display.”

“The Kaiju were threatening to kill us too, but you still felt bad about blowing them all up!” Newt said.

“It’s hardly the same,” Hermann retorted.

“It’s entirely the same!”

“It’s _hardly_ the same, and what’s more you’re only reinforcing my earlier point, you had no control in this situation, which I should have guessed the moment you showed any competence with a firearm!”

“Well _excuse me_ for not training to be some kind of hit man instead of all those years I spent studying _the giant aliens that were chomping on our civilization_.”

“I wasn’t criticizing you for not being an expert marksman! I was merely _observing_ that there might have been a _certain_ appeal in watching you so skillfully dispatch those murderous thugs!”

“Oh my god, I can’t _believe_ you thought that was hot!”

“Only because it was _you_ doing it!” Hermann exclaimed. He paused, expression going stiff. “Or so I thought. But only for an instant, after that it was quite clear who was piloting, so to speak. And this is hardly any worse than you being _stimulated_ by my shouting.”

“Now wait just a second—”

“Dr. Geiszler?” Both jerked as a woman in scrubs stepped into the room holding a clipboard. “I’m happy to see you’re awake. I’m sorry if you are in very much pain, but we have your emergency contact on the line and thought you should speak with him before the painkillers are administered, as they are quite potent. Our records show you checked in here five years ago for an MRI and listed your partner as your emergency contact, a Dr. Hermann Gottlieb? He’s ready to speak to you now.”

Newt’s eyes widened and he—

_— was back in that sunlit hospital room fives years ago, the calendar on the wall said 2030, oh my god, what have They done to me how is it already 2030?_

_Newt opened his mouth to speak to the nurse, but nothing came out. The Precursors muttered at the back of his mind. Hermann. They were afraid of Hermann. They were never going to let him talk to Hermann._

Give me the painkillers now, lady, I’m begging you, _Newt whined at the back of his mind. Painkillers, hard drugs, hell he’d take a baseball bat to the skull if it meant being high enough for just a few seconds to squeak out a word, a call for help across the line as the nurse placed the phone to his ear and excused herself to prepare his treatment._

_Newt closed his eyes as he felt Them seize control the moment she vanished, taking hold of his strings like the puppet he was. The script built on his tongue until it spread across his face and his body relaxed, melted into a silent scream, a silent smile, and his own voice easy and laughing took over, “Gottlieb! Sorry for the mix up, old pal. I came in for some work, purely cosmetic, pretty awesome though, and I guess they still had you as my contact. Weird, huh? Don’t worry about it though, I’ll have you taken off my records.”_

_“Oh,” Hermann said, sounding at once bewildered and defeated. “I see. How... terribly inconvenient. Of course, if you need any help at all, Newton, perhaps a ride from the hospital when you are discharged, it would be my privilege—”_

_“Nah, don’t worry about it, Alice is coming to get me.”_

_“Alice?” Hermann said, his voice gone suddenly cold. “Your girlfriend?”_

_“Yeah, man. I’d love to introduce you two sometime. You’d get along great, she’s a real brain. She’ll be by in a little to pick me up, but before that they’re gonna give me some painkillers, so if I call you back, just ignore it ok? It’s probably just me being all loopy, but ya can’t say no to the drugs, am I right?”_

_“No, I suppose you cannot,” Hermann said stiffly. “Will that be all, Newton? Only I have a great deal of work to do here, and don’t really have the time to discuss your current domestic situation.”_

_“That’s a shame, bro,” Newt could feel the Precursors twisting his lips into a smirk. “Because it’s_ awesome _. I feel like Alice really_ gets _me, y’know? It’s like a mind meld, total shared wavelength, and the bedroom_ , _holy shit…”_

_“Newton,” Hermann said curtly, “perhaps we can catch up another time, hmm? It seems as if those painkillers are already kicking in, and I wouldn’t want you to say something you’d regret.”_

_Newt squeezed his eyes shut, moisture prickling at the corners, and felt the Precursors satisfaction. The pain in his shoulder_ pulsed _, and the phone slipped from his nerveless fingers…_

… Into Hermann’s hand.

“ _Newton's been shot!_ ” Hermann bellowed into the receiver. “Get over here this instant, you absolute nitwit! Whatever inane lecture you are pr _—_ for right now I sw _—_ it is entirely _pointless_ in the grand scheme, j _—_ like your wretched life, you utter, _utter—!_ ”

Hermann froze, and his face went pale. “The Drift, Newton, it’s—!” The words faded in and out like a badly tuned radio, and at the edges his body turned translucent.

“… But that said, if for any reason Alice can’t make it there, I’d be happy to assist. I’m always here for you, Newton,” the other Hermann continued, oblivious, as if he couldn’t hear the real Hermann at all. His Hermann seemed to realize this at the same moment as Newt, and shot him a terrified look.

“You h _—_ to do this alone, Newton,” Hermann said. He held the phone up to Newt’s lips. “For yourself, for b _—_ of us. Please, you’ve d _—_ it once b _—_ , I _know_ you can do it again!”

_Newt’s lips parted. The memory was closing back around him as Hermann wavered in and out. He was going to be trapped here, for who knew how long. Forever maybe, Hermann may never come back. The other Hermann never came for him. But he wasn’t strong enough, not to speak out, not to stay in this memory._

_He had tried to escape after they dosed him with painkillers, too dazed to call Hermann back but dazed enough to scream himself hoarse shouting whatever insane nonsense he could come up with. Until Shao’s goons had shown up to paper the whole thing over and bundle him back to Shanghai. Who cared if he had been shot, so long as he’d done so protecting Shao’s secrets?_

_The Precursors hadn’t been happy after that. It had been a long time before they allowed him out again, months spent suspended in the void, with barely a keyhole of light from the outside world, except for the Drifts with Alice, screaming alone in the dark._

_He couldn’t go through that again, he couldn’t, he…_

He…

Newt’s breath came out in a harsh wheeze as _the Precursors clamped around him, pressing on his lungs, his brain, his tongue, forcing them into the shape of another denial._ “H…” he swallowed, _it was too much,_ _he wasn’t strong en_ … “h-help.”

Silence answered him.

“Newt? Are you…” the other Hermann’s voice crackled at the end of the line. “No, wait. Say nothing more. I’m coming there now.”

Newt’s head fell back against the pillows, his skin bathed in sweat that stung his eyes and the cuts on his face. He squinted through the haze, and saw Hermann, his Hermann, relief shining in his face, reaching out to take his hand, just as the room dissolved.

And Hermann vanished with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a heck of a lot of fun to write, I hope you enjoyed! If you have a moment, please consider leaving a comment!


	8. Heresy - Hermann

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I begged him, ‘solve the puzzle that has entangled my mind.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One song per chapter: "The Worst Day Since Yesterday" by Flogging Molly, and as the lyrics are rather perfect for Hermann in this fic I recommend checking it out.

“Welcome back, Dr. Gottlieb,” Pentecost greeted Hermann as his eyes fluttered open. He spared the younger man an unimpressed grimace.

“You are _very_ fortunate that your timing allowed some real progress rather than an unmitigated disaster like last time, Marshal. If only barely,” Hermann said. He shifted, wincing as pain shot like lightning up his sciatic nerve, when Pentecost extended a hand to help him to his feet, providing his cane from the side of the chair before Hermann could reach for it. That helpfulness was in general deeply irritating, in large part because of how difficult it made it to truly dislike the man. 

“Then maybe some good news will cheer you up. We’ve been monitoring Dr. Geiszler’s brain activity, and the EEG has picked up some readings for the first time,” Jake said. 

Hermann perked up. “So there have been improvements?”

“Big ones. Sort of miraculous, actually, from what I understand. He’s gone from whatever is the deepest coma state to, I don’t know, a less deep one, you’re going to have to ask Nurse Chen if you want specifics. The more important point is, this improves your case that you are making contact with Dr. Geiszler and not just dancing around with your own ghost Drift.”

“Or you could have simply _accepted_ my word on the matter in the first place, as I am the resident expert on Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann snapped. The pain was pulsing up his leg and radiating into his hip and back, adding a waspishness to his tone. 

“And I thought as a scientist, you would get why it’s important to have the numbers on your side,” Jake said, but there was no ill-humor in his retort. “Before I call it a night is there anything you want to tell me in private before your debrief?” 

The pain pulsed, and Hermann said. “I could use a more comfortable chair, for one thing. I’m forty-eight, not one of your child soldiers.” 

“We’ll see if the PPDC can spare one,” Pentecost said dryly. “Or if you think you need it, we could set up a bed beside Dr. Geiszler’s?”

Was it a test? A trap to see if he would admit to being unequal to the task of bearing the daily nine hour Drifts? He could not risk it. “Just the chair will suffice.”

Hermann waited until Pentecost shrugged and left before taking the first halting step. His hand shot out to catch the doorframe, wincing as a headache pulsed just behind his eyes and the strain of sore muscles echoed through his body. It was only eight at night, he still had his debrief and the meeting with the therapist to discuss possible theories on Newton’s treatment, before and after he woke up ( _if_ was not a word Hermann allowed to enter the conversation). 

He should take an extra day to rest. 

But as he straightened, gingerly settling his cane so it took the weight off his sciatic-afflicted leg, Hermann caught a glimpse of Newt on the bed. 

He was going to be late for his appointments. 

He didn’t care. 

Hermann took a tottering step over to lean against the bed, and could not help himself from pushing a shaggy strand of hair from Newton’s face, longer than it appeared in the Drift where he no doubt had control over its appearance and length. When he woke they would take care of that, and the few days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks. All this Hermann thought, looking past the necessary indignities of the tubes that stretched from his pale form, keeping it alive, even at times when such a washed-out existence seemed only barely this side of the definition. 

Hermann leaned down and pressed a kiss to Newt’s forehead, for there was no doubt he would awake, and therefore no doubt he had made contact, and by Newt’s own admission this was no longer “taking liberties.” 

There was no stirring from the still form on the bed, just as there had not been at any point during the past year. This was no fairytale enchantment to be broken by a kiss. At the very best, it seemed they were a morality tale from the Dark Ages, and there was something fitting to that. 

He would perform his debriefs as required, consult with his sages on matters of the mind, and take what rest he could. In the morning, he would return to the spiraling darkness of Newt’s subconscious, down to the lowest levels, in the hopes that he could guide him out. And this time he would not fail.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Hermann placed the Pons upon his head, and imagined he could feel it wearing a groove into his skull. A shadow of weariness still lingered over his eyelids, and he had slept in longer than usual that morning to be able to greet Pentecost and the team with utmost energy. 

He reminded himself that this would all be over in a few days and then he, along with Newt, could rest. He had eaten a light meal and accepted the fluid drip to keep himself hydrated while he remained under. 

The countdown was a familiar friend by now, and at the count of _3…2…1…_ Hermann took a deep breath and let the Drift engulf him. 

 

* * *

 

The meandering cave with its network of spiraling tunnels and empty rooms greeted him, reminding him distantly of the catacombs of Rome his family had taken him to explore on holiday during his childhood, rust colored tufa stone and rounded chambers dug out of the rock. 

It puzzled him still where exactly was the origin of the mindscape’s appearance. The memories housed in the Circles were undoubtedly Newton’s, though they always seemed to touch upon events that Hermann had known of, or felt he should have known of had he been paying attention. He had yet to determine the thread of a pattern, however, though it felt as if it teased the edge of his brain. If only he could crack it to make this bizarre puzzle end that much sooner. 

Their next Circle was Heresy. That should be interesting.

He spared a moment to be relieved that there was no inky blackness, the cave had either formed itself the moment he returned, or never left, which would be another development to puzzle over. But Newton was not there when Hermann found himself standing in the center of the empty room that had once housed the vision of the Fifth Circle. 

Fear tightened in the back of his throat. “Newt? Newton?” Hermann called, turning on his heels to study the perimeter of the room before scuttling down the spiral tunnel. He did not have to go far before he was greeted with perhaps the most bizarre sight the Drift had tossed at him yet. 

“Hey man,” Newt waved. It was only possible to see the top of his hand and the beginning of the tattoos at his wrist. He was deeply nestled in what was, to all appearances, a rainbow-colored hammock strung between the narrow walls of the tunnel. There was a small table next to it with a drink on it. It had a spiral straw sticking out from the rim, and a tiny blue umbrella.

Hermann peered over the high brim of the hammock and down at Newt, who had his white shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow, his skinny black tie undone, and his buttons open to the navel to reveal the tattoos on his chest. There was a book nestled in his hand. 

“Thought I’d do some brushing up,” Newt said, and flashed the cover. It read: _Dante’s Inferno: a Study Guide, by Newt Geiszler_. 

“How is it even possible for you to create a book here?” Hermann frowned, peering at the cover. “Wouldn’t it only contain what you can remember?”

“Eidetic memory, it’s a gift,” Newt said, tapping at his forehead. “The Italian side of the page tends to blur out sometimes, but the English is solid and the pictures are still rad as hell, no pun intended.  And it’s got the important stuff.” He pinned the book to the front page, holding up a conical map of the levels of Hell, all labeled. “Kinda looks like the Breach, doesn’t it?” 

“Disturbingly so,” Hermann murmured. Then, “Is that a _mojito_?” 

“Oh, yeah, do you want one?” Newt said. He strained over the side of the hammock to pluck his drink from the table and taking a long drag through the spiral straw. “I still can’t manifest a lot, but I have a theory.” 

Newt again reached over the edge of the hammock and closed his eyes, hand pawing at the air above the table until he gave an “ _Aha!_ ” and pulled a second glass beaded with condensation from nowhere. It too had a twisty straw at the top, and a paper umbrella, though this one was green. 

“Which is?” Hermann said, and more from bafflement and the fact he had just woken up less than an hour before, accepted the glass and held it in his free hand. 

“It starts with the fact I’m probably, y’know, slightly brain damaged from all the Precursor shenanigans and being in a coma for a year.” Newt took a sip from his drink, gesturing with the book in his other hands. “I mean, we’re only talking mildly concussed here, of course. I’m still a genius. But I probably couldn’t make a place like this back when you weren’t _actively_ Drifting with me. The muscle just hadn’t been used in a long time, y’know? But!” 

He put the drink back down on the side table and reached over again, this time pulling out a mobile phone as if it had been taken from the tabletop. “Now I’ve worked that muscle a little, and the whole amusement park doesn’t shut down every time you leave now, right? And, more than that, I can actually add stuff. Not a ton of stuff, admittedly, and this is where the theory comes in.” He dropped the mobile phone onto his stomach, and with a flourish reached over the side again, this time pulling out a flashlight. “Do you get it?” 

“I… can’t say that I do,” Hermann said, and more by force of habit than intention, took a sip from the straw. His eyebrows shot up, and he spat the sugary concoction back into the glass before it could melt through his tongue. “This is—?”

“Tendo’s mojitos, yeah, from that party in 2024, remember?”

“I shudder to recall, in fact,” Hermann grimaced. There had hardly been high quality rum traveling across the Pacific to the Hong Kong Shatterdome in those days, so Tendo had improvised. The home-made substitute could have doubled as jet fuel. 

“Good times. So anyway, I’ll give you a hint, the hardest thing to manifest here was that table,” Newt said. “Because…?” 

Hermann opened his mouth, and shook his head in incomprehension. It was far too early for any of this. 

“It doesn’t make sense!” Newt exclaimed. “Come on, Hermann, keep up. The phone makes sense, the flashlight makes sense because we’re in a cave, see? Even the hammock I could kinda wrangle as something I might have brought down here, but it took a bit. But why would there be a table in a cave?”

“And the mojito?” Hermann said slowly. 

“Well I couldn’t manifest the mojito until I had the table, duh,” Newt said. “Because why would I have a mojito if there wasn’t a table?” 

“Your logic is astounding,” Hermann said, and meant it sincerely. 

Newt sighed. “Alright, I can see I lost you. Let me start over. Back in the Fourth Circle, you pulled a cell phone out of your pocket, right? And I was all, ‘ _huh?_ ’ because before that we only had whatever was on us and what was _in the visions,_ and those follow their own logic, which I’m still working on a theory for. But you were able to pull the cell phone out of your pocket because it _made sense_ that it was there.” 

Newt spread his hands, as if he had just offered a crystal clear revelation. “Meaning, it’s _easier_ to manifest objects that make sense in context. The hammock made more sense than a bed because I’m in a cave, and maybe I’m camping. Then the book made sense because I’m relaxing in a hammock. Then the table was a bit hard because I’m in a cave _but_ I’m relaxing, so maybe there’s a table. And since there’s a table, it makes sense that there’s a drink on it. And a cell phone. And any other little objects I need down here. I can’t manifest anything _big_ but I _can_ manifest stuff that it makes sense to have around me. Baby steps, see? It’s lucid dreaming rules.”

“I would have thought you better than to believe in pseudoscience like _lucid dreaming_ , Newton,” Hermann said. 

“Dude, it’s entirely a real thing, but I’d hardly call it a _science_. I mean really, dial it back a bit, it’s more like a party trick,” Newt said, ignoring Hermann’s huff as rolled his eyes. “I did some experiments with it when I was at MIT, to see if I could study while I was asleep, you know, double my intake. But it doesn’t work like that so I kinda gave up. Because like you said, I could only work with objects I _already knew about_ , so no new information. And in the dream it was almost impossible to do anything that didn’t make sense in context. So, what does that tell us? We’re in some kind of shared dream.”

“I fail to see how this helps,” Hermann said, but as Newt wound up for his next rant he glanced down at his mojito glass and frowned. What made sense in context? He closed his eyes, listening to Newt natter on in the background. 

“ _Dreams_ are a place of free association. There’s a _pattern_ to what we’re seeing, but it’s not always direct, or logical. It’s more like associations _we make_ with whatever we think is going on. Like the Circles.”

Hermann waited until he could feel steam rising against his face. It was, after all, still morning. There was a cup in his hand. He was groggy. Therefore what he was holding could only be… He opened his eyes and beheld a perfectly made cup of tea where the mojito had been. 

And beyond it, Newt gaping in outrage. 

“Are you telling me you just spent that _entire time_ pretending I was talking nonsense, and then stole my idea?” 

“It’s just tea, Newton,” Hermann said, and took a sip. Exquisite. “You were saying?”

“No, I was pretty much done,” Newt said, glaring at the porcelain cup in Hermann’s hand. “I tried to manifest a Mariachi band earlier, and then that awesome Hong Kong noodle shop, you know the one with the melt-your-face spices, and then a diamond-tipped drill to get the hell out of this place, but I think I just gave myself a migraine.”

“So what is your conclusion?” Hermann said. The tea was revitalizing him to some extent, even though the effect could only be psychosomatic. He’d have to remember this trick for later. 

“Well after that, my conclusion was that I needed to take a fucking nap, so I spent the next hour trying to manifest the hammock, and then I made the book because I couldn’t sleep because I realized I _can’t_ sleep because my body _is_ asleep and has been for a _year_ ,” Newt said. “And that pretty much brings us up to the present. How was your day?” 

“Exhausting,” Hermann said. “Made all the more so by the fact I need to constantly reassure a Marshal half my age that I know what I’m doing when I Drift with you. So perhaps we could get on with it, or would you like to finish your drink first?” 

“Haha,” Newt said, and lay back down. “And here I was going to ask if you wanted to share my hammock for a bit. You look like hell.” 

“I can assure you, in the real world I look a sight better than you do,” Hermann said. He took a final sip of his tea and, though it was entirely pointless to do so, he placed the cup gingerly on the ground before peering over into Newt’s hammock. The man was curled up inside it, arms crossed looking up frankly at Hermann. Yes, a far sight better indeed than how he looked in the real world. 

Hermann leaned down, and pressed a kiss to Newt’s forehead.

Newt’s eyebrows rose, and he flushed slightly. “That was… way cuter than I was expecting. What was that for?” 

“Symmetry,” Hermann said, and with some effort he ducked around the hammock and began to walk down the hallway to the next Circle. It was only a few moments before he heard the entirely unsurprising crash and muffled swearing as Newt tumbled free of the hammock, and scrambled after him. 

 

* * *

 

_When Hermann imagined the sixth circle of Hell, particularly in the context of all previous and mostly nightmarish visions in Newt’s subconscious, he had hardly expected to be bored. But here he was, sitting in the council room in the PPDC headquarters in Geneva and for the second time in his life listening to the same debate on the merits of remotely piloted drone Jaegers. _

_ Even at the time the speeches had been dull, despite the fact his whole world and the livelihoods of all his surviving friends hung in the balance, because the necessity of politics meant that the data points had largely been boiled down to overly simplistic sound-bytes, and if he raised his hand to correct every inaccuracy of nuance they would be there all day and he would likely cause a mutiny.  _

_ He knew how this day ended, and the disasters that came out of it, to the extent that he almost wished the vision would hurry up and get on with it. _

_ “We would like to welcome the proposal from Shao Industries, lead by their head of R&D, a man who needs no introduction to the assembled company, Dr. Newton Geiszler,” the organizer said, and there was muffled applause, including several pools of more energetic whooping from the younger PPDC contingent.  _ Rockstar indeed, _ Hermann had mused.  _ At least one of us got what he wanted.

_ Hermann would admit he had been one of those more…  _ enthusiastic _ applauders in the real world version of these events. _

_ He knew now that the man who took the podium was not Newton, not in any way that mattered, but also knew why it had been hard to see it at the time. The Precursors were excellent mimics. It was indeed hard to see it even now, when the man who stepped onto the stage immediately rolled up his sleeves to reveal the tattoos that had made him infamous, and then famous among the more  _ alternative _ members of the PPDC corp. Now that Newt was a renowned member of the Hong Kong Shatterdome team that closed the Breach and saved the world, those tattoos elevated him to legend. His suit was finer, and he had exchanged his black rimmed glasses for garish yellow shades, but many would have simply taken the finer attire as his due after what he had accomplished, Hermann among them.  _

_ “Alright, settle down everyone, thank you, thank you,” Newt laughed as he took the podium. The moderator handed him a clicker for the slides that were projected onto the massive wall behind him. “I’d like to thank the illustrious Liwen Shao for the opportunity to speak with you all today, please give it up for Liwen,” he announced, making a big show of applauding a stately young woman in a striking white business suit, whose expression showed icy assuredness and more than a little irritation at the overly-familiar introduction. “Because today I’m going to be announcing to you the most amazing discovery of our era: the newest generation of Jaeger tech, remotely operated, with zero latency. And we have the science to prove it, start the slides!” _

_ An audible gasp had gone up in the room. Hermann had leaned forward, his fist pressed to his mouth. It shouldn’t have been possible. The laws of  _ physics _ didn’t allow zero latency. It was the reaction time that had killed the idea in the field back with the Mark 2 program, but it had remained a stubborn dream for many Shatterdomes as they watched their pilots go down one by one and—with the rare level of Drift compatibility required to pilot the massive machines—at times impossible to replace. _

_ Now Newt claimed he had solved the issue that had bedeviled Hermann’s field since its inception? It was Nobel-worthy if true, and it couldn’t possibly be true.  _

_ It was one of many regrets Hermann bore to this day, that at this point he had not even begun the leap to understanding what was right before his eyes: nothing from this Earth could support those claims. They knew now that the Precursors could enact a zero-latency, cross dimensional Drift with an organic subject, keeping them under constant control for years at a time. The proof of that was standing before them on the stage.  _

_ But at the time he had wanted so  _ badly _ for someone to have discovered a way. And if anyone in the world could, he wanted to believe it was Newton Geiszler.  _

_ So, against all his better judgement, and all his experience, Hermann had cast the deciding vote that day, in favor of the PPDC accepting Shao Industries’ proposal for a prototype remotely powered Jaeger, to be presented in the year 2035.  _

_ He had lost friends over that vote. Herc Hansen had never been a man to suffer bullshit, and with the loss of his son he saw the drones as nothing less than an insult to his child’s memory, and those of all the fallen pilots. Herc had become distant towards Hermann after that, enough that when the opportunity arose to move from Hong Kong to the more up-to-date Moyulan Shatterdome, Hermann had accepted.  _

_ But he had barely noted the loss at the time. It was Newt. And this was apparently Newt’s dream. And by accepting the contract, Hermann would become the tech liaison between Shao Industries and the PPDC until the prototype was delivered, which meant regular albeit professional contact with Newt.  _

_ More the fool he.  _

“Alright, that’s enough,” Hermann sighed as he rose to his feet. Heads turned towards him as he stalked down between the rows of chairs until he stood at the foot of Newt’s stage. At his approach, the creatures wearing Newt’s face stopped its presentation, and once again Hermann marveled at how unnaturally green Newt’s eyes looked beneath the lens of their influence. The shades were the exact yellow of Alice’s tank. 

“That’s impossible,” Hermann pronounced. A smile flickered at the edge of the creature’s face. They knew this game, this old argument between him and Newt. They had already been there, after all, all those years ago, after Newt’s first Drift.

“Is it impossible?” not-Newt said. 

“It’s _impossible_ ,” Hermann said, and this time there was no Marshal Pentecost Sr. to pull them apart. And this time, Hermann was right. “Or should I Drift with a Kaiju brain to prove my point?”

A ripple went through the audience. This had gone off script. Everyone knew of the legendary fights between Dr.’s Gottlieb and Geiszler, and some no doubt braced to see if they would be getting a reprise performance. Hermann wondered himself if the Precursors would be willing to make a scene. 

“Hermann, buddy, this really isn’t the time.” The creature flashed a wide grin. “If you want to go over the equations later, I promise you they check out. We can do it over at my place, you can finally meet—”

“Alice, indeed,” Hermann interrupted. “Your script is growing tiresome.” He turned to assembled PPDC contingent, and held out his hand for a microphone. It did not arrive immediately, but then “Dr. Geiszler’s” presentation did not resume immediately either. The creatures were waiting, watching to see what Hermann would do. 

“I would strongly urge the PPDC to reject this proposal out of hand until an independent team of experts can verify their claim,” Hermann said when it arrived, in a bored tone that captured far more attention than any infuriated shouting, a lesson he had tried to impart on Newton years ago in a rare moment of professional charity. “I would also like to propose a full audit of all Shao facilities, including classified locations, should they still wish to pursue this contract. It was not long ago that the PPDC lost much of its funding in favor of a non-functional quote Wall of Life, unquote, and thousands of lives were lost as a result. I would hate to see the same happen again, with valuable resources siphoned off to fuel a private industry pipe dream.” 

He turned, “And while we’re on the subject, Newton, I would be happy to take you up on your offer. I would dearly _love_ to meet Alice.”

The thing wearing Newton’s face brow furrowed, indeed he half expected a snarl, but it had more poise than that. Liwen's posture had gone stiff, her gaze flicking back and forth between Newt and Hermann. Until she rose to her feet, and without a word left the stage. 

Calculation burned in its eyes, another mistake. Newt had never worn such an expression, or considered his words so carefully before speaking, and it shot one last glare over its shoulder as it stalked from the stage. 

The room dissolved. 

 

* * *

 

“That. Was. _Awesome_!” Hermann _oof_ ed as a body descended on him from above, and Newt’s arms were wrapped tight around him, his tattoos on his chest standing stark against his white shirt. He hadn’t even finished buttoning it closed before they entered the Circle. “Oh my _god,_ I wish I had been able to see that douchebag’s _face_. But, y'know, I was stuck inside.” 

“Without any control?” Hermann said, his brow furrowing in concern as he looked at Newt. Newt hung lightly off his shoulder, so that meant looking down. 

“Who cares? Oh man I felt like _shit_ that day, pawning their crap off on you guys, selling corporate snake oil,” Newt said. “Do I really sound like that? Like I’m campaigning to be mayor of something all the time?”

“I assure you, no one could listen to your voice and elect you to public office,” Hermann said. He frowned. “Did anything seem strange to you about that one?”

“Besides the fact we kicked its _ass_ in like, ten minutes flat?” Newt grinned. “Nah, can’t think of a thing.”

“It was rather brief though…” 

“The jokes are just _piling_ up on that one, but I’m going to show you mercy. Ok, remember, the first one? You just had to hit a button on my computer screen, we were out in a few seconds. Lust probably would have been that short too if you hadn’t gotten yanked,” Newt said.

“Something was _different_ this time, Newton. As you said, we don’t have a unified theory yet on why the visions end when they do, and we’re approaching the final three! They could be of an entirely different category, and we know as little as when we arrived!”

“Ok, I’ll admit, there’s definitely some variation, but like I said, this is a _dreamscape_ , man. We shouldn’t be _expecting_ rigid structure here.” Newt paused. “Then again, if _you’re_ any part of this, maybe we should.” 

“Precisely! I am a part of this, the guide. In that vision, I was in my own body from that time. That’s never happened before!” 

“Right, but I’ve always been in mine,” Newt sobered, and seemed to be actively considering his words. “And I get stuck in some memories, but in others I can move around a bit.” 

“Yes! We should try to determine the unifying thread.”

“Or,” Newt said, holding up a hand, then jerking his thumb down the passage, “we can figure it out when we’re out of here, having a laugh about Newt’s weird brain at the Shatterdome cantina.”

“ _You_ were the one who spent several hours developing a theory of what objects you can manifest in this space,” Hermann retorted.

“Yeah, because I had a bunch of time to kill until you came back, and nothing better to do. I can’t get out of here on my own.”

“My only concern is…”

“Look, I get it,” Newt interrupted. “You know I hate that we’re going into this without a ton of information. But we _rocked_ that one, and I say we ride that wave and keep going. Maybe we’re getting better at this. Maybe you just got spooked because you were in your past body for that one.”

Hermann subsided, swallowing back his protests. Was that the difference? Being in his own body, so intimately tied to the action of the memory? Even if that Circle had been so easily dispatched and frankly bland despite its importance on the grander scale, it had been unsettling. 

Was this why Newt had been so reluctant earlier to press on through the Circles, even with his salvation lying on the other side, because being in one's own body in the memory made it so much more intense? Was Hermann simply being hypocritical, now that his own proverbial skin was in the game?

“Very well,” Hermann sighed. 

“So what’s up next? Wait, don’t tell me, I’ve got this one. It’s Violence” Newt’s eyes flashed up and to the side as if making a calculation. “ _All the first circle of the Violent is; but since force may be used against three persons, in three rounds 'tis divided and constructed. To God, to ourselves, and to our neighbor can we use force… Blahblahblah_ , basically you can be violent in three categories, but I still say it sounds an awful lot like Wrath and that Dante is slipping. Except for the sodomy bit. Hey Herms, did you know that the Seventh Circle includes sodomy?” Newt waggled his eyebrows. “And the suicides. Ugh. Medieval morality, gotta love it.”

“The difference between Wrath and Violence is that violence is a premeditated crime by this definition, unlike crimes of wrath,” Hermann explained. “The poet found premeditated crimes, the crimes of reason, far worse than the crimes of passion, which ended with the Fifth Circle, so he placed them lower down.”

“Gee, thanks, Professor Gottlieb,” Newt drawled.

Hermann huffed a sigh of annoyance. “You have _The Inferno_ memorized and you’re mocking _me_ for understanding some of the theory behind it?”

“Damn right I am, nerd.”

All throughout they had continued walking, but when at that moment they rounded the corner there was another bubble of the memory waiting for them, but this one was sky blue and rather… cheery looking, all things considered. Newt shot Hermann a skeptical look. “Violence, seriously? That doesn’t look so bad, what do you think is in there?”

“There is only one way to find out,” Hermann said grimly, and put out his hand, which Newt took, and together they stepped through the shining blue surface, into the Seventh Circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be one of my favorite chapters for Newt/Hermann dialogue and for the worldbuilding of the space between the Circles, I do hope you enjoyed! Do please consider leaving a comment if you have the time, it would mean so much!


	9. Violence - Newt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is truly alive, and, alone, I have to show him the dark valley. Necessity brings him here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warning:** discussions of suicide. Please jump to the endnotes for further specifics if you are concerned. 
> 
> Rating: The rating increases from "Teen" to "Mature" in this chapter. If that concerns you, similarly jump to the end notes for an explanation.
> 
> Song: 'Canceling the Apocalypse' by Ramin Djawadi - turn it on at the start of the chapter if you can, because the mood lines up with the first half of this chapter rather exactly.

_Seagulls screamed overhead in a cloudless sky that would have have bright blue if not for the sunglasses tinting it to a noxious yellow. Newt would have taken them off and tossed them away, but he needed all the strength he could scrape together for the next step._

_The Moyulan Shatterdome was built on an island in the South China Sea, with concrete walls stretching to the heavens in a smooth, brutalist line punctuated only with ventilation ducts for the titanic machines housed within. The Precursors generally made every effort to keep him away from here, but this time Shao had demanded that her head of R &D go make nice with their biggest prospective customer so they didn’t lose the contract. Because of course, no one had stood up to question their pitch to the PPDC the year before. The vote had been cast in Shao’s favor._

_The Precursors didn’t like him anywhere near the PPDC, too many familiar faces, too much risk of discovery, but right now Their plan was almost complete, one day away from full automation. They were growing bolder. Which meant he was out of time._

_The sea was_ really _far away up here. Newt’s vision spun._

_Somewhere at the back of his mind, the Precursors finally realized what was happening, and their muttering rose to a scream. The blackness crushed around him, shrinking his vision like blinders, until all he could see were the rocks, and the sea, and his expensive leather shoes at the edge of the concrete._

_One more day. That’s all the time he had left to stop it, to do something about it._

_But it really was a long way down._

_The other problem was actually getting his body to move now that he was here. He’d made it all the way up to the roof just thinking about getting some air,_ really _thinking about it. He hadn’t consciously considered the other possibility, hadn’t let himself, until he had stepped out to the edge to admire the water. One of his PhDs was in marine biology. Without the Kaiju, he might have been happy kicking around for a few years in that field._

_It wouldn’t be a bad way to go, if he could just summon the strength to do it._

_They were pushing him away from the edge with all Their might, and he was pushing_ towards _the edge with all his, which meant they were standing in perfect equilibrium. Maybe if he was lucky, a strong breeze would push him over._

_He really didn’t want to die. He was selfish like that. Maybe if he did, he could have made it the extra millimeter to the tipping point._

_The metal door to the roof clanged open and shut somewhere behind him._ _And when he heard the voice, the rest of his will crumbled._

_“I thought I saw you come this way. Newton, is that really you?”_

_Newt closed his eyes, his body swaying as a wave of hopelessness washed over him, as Their will strengthened, as his weakened, and try as he might he couldn’t push back again. He was the complete_ idiot _who let the most dangerous creatures in the universe waltz into his brain, and he was a selfish bastard who couldn’t even get up the strength to stop another invasion of his world._

 _But he just couldn’t do it._ _This was the Moyulan Shatterdome._ _He couldn’t go through with it somewhere where Hermann would be the one to find the body._

_Not again._

_“Oh, hey buddy,” Newt said faintly. “Great view, huh? Sometimes I like to come up here to get away from it all. Have a cigarette, clear my head.”_

_“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you in a private moment. I merely hoped to catch you before you returned to your hotel,” Hermann said, his voice growing closer, and Newt’s heart broke._

_“No. No, it’s alright. Things have been crazy. Never any time, right? I’m happy to see you, Hermann.”_

_“Newton, are you alright? You’re quite close to the edge there,” Hermann said cautiously._

_“Don’t worry about it. I was just thinking.”_

_“About?”_

_Newt released a shuddering breath, and stepped back from the edge. He inhaled again in a thick wheeze, barely able to breathe through the wave of tears and mucus threatening to choke him. He turned to look at Hermann over his shoulder and forced a half-hearted grin, “I was thinking about leaving Alice.”_

_A complicated array of emotions crossed Hermann’s face. Shock, confusion, followed by a flash of blinding joy that fell just as rapidly into pained concern. “Oh, Newton, I am so terribly sorry. I know you’ve been together for some time.”_

_“Yeah, but things… haven’t been good lately,” Newt choked. He took another step back, then another, watching the safety of the world recede with the edge. “She expects a lot from me. And between the long hours and the…the fighting, I guess I’ve just been kinda l-lonely, y’know?”_

Let me have this, _he pleaded with the creatures in his mind._

_He found Them uncharacteristically silent. There was no force behind Their will, now that he had stepped back from the ledge. He could feel Their alarm at how close he had gotten, the eyes inside him wary and watching Hermann. Considering._

_A thought trickled in his mind. Not so much words as a_ feeling _, that the Precursors didn’t need an additional servant right now. They just needed him to be cooperative. And if that meant giving him a few minutes of freedom, supervised but not impeded upon, so long as he did not say or do the wrong thing, then it was a small price to pay to see the plan through to the final stages._

_With that, They withdrew._

_They would be back. Quicker than reflex if he stepped one toe out of line, or said one wrong word. But at the release of pressure from his mind, from his tongue, from his body, Newt sagged. He caught a glimpse of Hermann’s stricken expression as he rushed forward and caught him, and dragged him away from the edge._

_There was a bench beside the door, as Newt was hardly the only person who found it a popular spot for a smoke break. Hermann maneuvered them with some difficulty onto it, and once seated, Newt slumped forward and tugged the sunglasses off. He let them clatter to the ground, and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes._

_There was a tentative touch on Newt’s shoulder, little more than a light tap before it resolved into Hermann’s hand settling there, warm through his suit jacket._

_“I’d offer a hug, but you know I have rules against public displays of affection,” Hermann said._

_“Yeah, I know,” Newt murmured._

_Silence fell, except for the crashing of the sea._

_They sat there, unmoving until Newt raised his head and wiped the sleeve of his thousand dollar jacket across his nose. God he hated the thing, and at that thought, and the fact he was actually_ free _to do so, he started tearing at it, tugging the jacket off his back, his fingers shaking as he undid the vest and let both fall to the ground on top of the sunglasses. Newt scraped the crisply ironed sleeves back until they exposed the tattoos on his forearms._

_“Now, there’s a familiar sight,” Hermann said fondly._

_“Alice likes it when I wear that shit,” Newt said. It was getting easier to talk. He couldn’t say anything important, not about Them, but talking about “Alice” was innocuous and almost as good. “Right now I just don’t want to…”_

_“I understand.”_

_“I just want to feel like myself again.”_

_Hermann’s breath caught, and the hand that had fallen to his side shivered, before pressing resolutely to his own thigh. “Perhaps if you feel the need for a change you would consider coming back to…to the PPDC?”_

_Newt laughed bitterly. “I_ can’t _leave my job with Shao.”_

_“Not now perhaps, I know her remote guidance technology depends upon your mind. But once the Shao contract is complete? The permeable nature of the barrier between the public and private sector is well known, and the PPDC will need a liaison with Shao to negotiate maintenance and improvements. It could be the ideal position for you, if you need some time away from the corporate world,” Hermann said, his tone flitting between excitement and hesitation._

_“Once the Shao contract is complete?” Newt echoed. “Yeah. I guess one way or another, I’ll be free after that.”_

_“But that’s only a few years away! I could begin laying the groundwork for you, perhaps whisper a word or two in the right ear.”_

_“You would do that for me?” Newt said with a weary smile, and wondered if Hermann heard the echo of another time._ You would do that with me?

 _“I don’t know if I can express how concerned I’ve been since you left us so suddenly, Newton. I confess I feared for your prospects. But you’ve done brilliant, astonishing work since, and we’re all terribly proud of you._ I _am proud in particular to have once had you as my… my partner. But if the shining lights of stardom become too much, know there is always a home for you here. You’re one of us.”_

_Newt blinked hard, waiting a moment until he could speak. “Thanks. Sometimes… it can be easy to forget that.”_

Was I really just an idiot that was easy for you guys to take over? _Newt wondered in the general direction of the Precursors._ Or was I an asset? I helped close the Breach. I was one of the heroes that saved our world, before you took me. Did you know that when you did it? Is that why you did it? Did you know you couldn’t win this time without me on your side?

 _A tiny flicker of pride, barely more than a spark, flared in his chest. There was no answer from the hive, but somewhere in his gut he imagined he felt a twisting echo of predatory self-satisfaction. The Precursors had taken Stacker, and Chuck, and the Kaidonovskys, and the Weis off the board during the final push to close the Breach._ _And then the Precursors had taken him, one of the two scientists who had figured out how to close the Breach. He hadn’t done it alone, but he had been one of them, along with Hermann, and Tendo, and Mako, and all the other Jaeger pilots. They had been a team, a family. His family._

You didn’t take me because I was a convenient idiot, did you? You took me because you were afraid of me.

_“I’d like to come back,” Newt said. “God knows, you guys drove me crazy sometimes. There was never any money, never any time, we couldn’t even afford proper lab equipment. Remember that, Herms? Running every diagnostic by hand, doing the work of ten people, at all hours of the night? Christ, those were some of the happiest days of my life.”_

_“Mine as well,” Hermann murmured. “Hindsight wipes away all memory of the daily grind of fear and discomfort, until all that remains is glittering nostalgia. The privilege of age, hmm?"_

_“Tell me about it, I never thought I’d live to see forty.” Newt chuckled ruefully. “We were going out one way or the other. Might as well throw everything we had at the problem, right?”_

_“Yes, that attitude was certainly visible in your recklessness,” Hermann said fondly. “Drifting with a Kaiju brain? I comfort myself to think you never would have done such a thing were we not facing certain extinction, but I’m not always so sure.”_

_Hermann meant it to be funny, but Newt’s stomach clenched at the memory, of the innocence of that day when he had thought his only options were whether he lived or died._

_But Hermann must have picked up something, maybe the guy had finally learned how to be around people, or perhaps it was an echo over the wavelength of their long-disused ghost Drift, as he said softly, “You don’t seem so reckless anymore.”_

_“Yeah. I guess you could say I learned my lesson.”_

_“A lot_ has _changed, then,” Hermann said, his wide mouth quirking in a sad smile._

_He wanted to come back, so badly the churning twisting_ need _was driving back the memory of the ledge, of why it had been so important to end it all. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to believe, somehow, that despite all the work and secrecy and planning behind the Precursors plot for vengeance, that Hermann and the others would be there waiting on the other side, ready. That they would stop it. That his long lost family would be strong when he couldn’t, and that one day, if he could just_ stay alive _, he could come home._

_And that was when Newt knew, the realization settling heavy and sickening in his gut, that this is what the Precursors had wanted all along when they let him talk to Hermann: to give him_ just _enough hope that he would keep going, but not enough to make a push to break free. To keep him alive for the chance to come out on the other side of this nightmare. He wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t one of those crazy, self-sacrificing Jaeger pilots. He was a survivor._

_They were counting on that._

_He felt Them flex and shift at the back of his mind. The connection went both ways, and he felt Their satisfaction, Their confidence that the danger had passed, his will punctured, and put an end to the crazed desperation that might have given their tool enough power to destroy himself._

_Hermann shifted beside him, his hand coming to rest on the bench, just inches from Newt’s knee. “Newton, I…”_

_Newt’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and Hermann went still beside him. He knew without looking what it was: the notification from Shao’s team to rendezvous at the Shatterdome entrance for their ride back to the hotel._

_“...I suppose you’ll be needing to take that,” Hermann sighed._

_Newt nodded as he took the phone from his pocket, and wished he could chuck it over the wall into the sea. The message on the screen confirmed what he already knew. His five minute long vacation was over. It was time to go._

_“Until next time, Hermann,” Newt said, and stood. He halfheartedly grabbed the pile of clothes and sunglasses from the ground, scrunching them into a ball. “Hey... if, when that next time comes, if I’m not with Alice anymore… maybe we could grab a drink? Pick up where we left off?”_

_He almost couldn’t bear the swell of hope that seemed to lift Hermann in his chair, brightening his face and straightening his back. “Yes, Newton. I would like that very much.”_

If I asked him to come back to my hotel, he would, _a corner of Newt’s mind whispered, that wasn’t the Precursors, that wasn’t exactly his own. Something buried and half remembered. Stray and intrusive and definitely crazy. Hermann wouldn’t… they had never… no matter how much Newt had imagined it, when they lay side by side in the med bay, they had never touched. He couldn’t just come out of the blue with an invitation like that seven years later. If it hadn’t happened then, it definitely wasn’t going to happen now._

_“It’s a date,” Newt said. He gave a little wave in farewell, then his hand fell on the cold metal of the door handle. He didn’t want to go._

_Back then, he twisted the handle and ducked out, the heavy steel clanging shut behind him. He had taken the concrete stairs slowly, reluctantly, until he arrived back at the entrance where the Shao team waited impatiently, and together they had left the Shatterdome._

_This time...this time could be different._

_He shifted within the memory, felt it loosen around him, and suddenly he could_ breathe.

Newt’s hand went to his pocket, and he turned back to Hermann, and flashed a plastic hotel key. “Or… you could come with me?”

Hermann startled on the bench as the memory loosened its grip on them. His eyes widened as he took in the hotel key, and for good measure Newt tossed in a lascivious eyebrow wiggle.

“Don’t be absurd, Newton,” Hermann said stiffly. Newt froze, and Hermann struggled to his feet, expression severe. “That hotel is on the other side of the island. My quarters, on the other hand, are just down the hall.”

Newt stared, and then a grin began to creep across his face.

 

* * *

 

Newt made plans as they walked, really good plans, to push Hermann up against the door and kiss him senseless the second they were inside his apartment in the personnel wing of the Shatterdome. The sight of that long drop was still there whenever he closed his eyes and more than anything he wanted to banish it with being _here_ and alive. Plans he half expected Hermann anticipated, as the second the door closed behind them, Newt did just that, mindful of Hermann’s leg but making excellent use of the stabilization of the door to press the man backwards and let him know in the language of lips and teeth and saliva just how _needed_ he was. Hermann gave a surprised gasp against his lips, but then responded just as enthusiastically, stabilizing himself with a hand on Newt's hip as if it was second nature. 

And they might have continued that way for awhile, as Newt had additional plans that involved pressing Hermann up against any surface he could find, if not for a polite cough from Hermann as he broke away, who nodded back towards the room. Right. Bed. A much better place for those plans and Newt would have loaded himself into a cannon to get there faster, if not for the sight that greeted his eyes when he turned around and truly _saw_ Hermann’s apartment for the first time.

Newt’s jaw dropped.

“Those are my band posters,” Newt breathed. He stumbled into the center of the room, eyes widening as he spun, pointing. “And that’s my guitar, and my Kaiju action figures! I thought these were all left behind in Hong Kong, you _kept_ them?”

Hermann stood by the door, slightly mussed now, but with both hands on his cane as he watched Newt’s wonderment. “Well,” he sniffed, lip twitching, “no one else would have them, so I thought they might as well be preserved for posterity, rather than auctioned off to your g _r_ oupies or thrown away.”

“ _Hermann_.” He couldn’t help it, in two steps he was back in front of Hermann, ignoring his muffled squawk as Newt wrapped his arms around him, pinning Hermann’s arms to his chest as he made a good effort to squeeze the life out of him, lifting him an inch off the ground in the process. “You didn’t have to hang them up though! Did you do all this for me?”

Hermann grimaced as Newt broke away, and would not meet his eye. “They _are_ practically mine at this point anyway. I held onto them expecting you to send for them once you were settled in Shanghai. When you didn’t… well, to discard them felt like an admission of defeat. I was merely ensuring that should you ever want them back, they would be in pristine condition.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Newt choked, overcome. He spun again, wandering further into the apartment. His old stuff was interspersed with Hermann’s, a chalkboard that covered one of the walls, an antique astrolabe, an electronic keyboard piano. The place was one long studio without levels, with a window that stretched from waist height to the ceiling, overlooking the sea. The floor was polished wood and the handles on all the kitchen drawers brass, the whole place had an aged feel, like a gentleman’s study from the turn of the century interspersed with blinking technology: a projector display, scattered lab equipment, a hi-tech sound system. “Oh my god, oh my _god_ , this place is heaven!”

It wasn’t nearly as pristine as what he remembered of Hermann’s sterile room back in Hong Kong, there was clutter on the desk, and in the kitchen. There was a closet door open beside the low bed with clothes spilling out, Newt tripped over his feet dashing to it.

Sure enough, all of Hermann’s suits were on the closest end, sweater-vests all in a neat row, along with pressed shirts and slacks. But on the other end, hung in a group together was…

“My band shirts,” Newt breathed. He turned back to Hermann, who was watching his antics without saying a word, a strange expression on his face. “Do you mind if I—?”

“No, of course not. They’re yours after all,” Hermann said, waving him on. With a grin, Newt began unbuttoning his shirt, too excited to even bother making it look sexy. He let the damn shirt with its stupid embroidery and thousand dollar stitching fall to a heap on the floor and pulled out the first shirt he could find, a maroon _Actor|Observer_ t-shirt. The band had broken up twenty years ago, right after Trespasser, some barely-known indie metal group he had seen at the Middle East nightclub in Boston when he was at MIT. The shirt wasn’t just vintage, it was  _irreplaceable_.

Newt sighed with relief as he pulled it over his head, trying not to think about how it was just a little too big now after the torture that was exercise that the Precursors had put him though. There was a pair of black skinny jeans in the back, and those too were not nearly as tight as they should have been. He didn’t even give a shit about stripping, pulling off his leather shoes, silk socks and wool slacks in a few scrambling motions, pulling the pants on over his briefs ( _ugh_ ) until he was standing in his own clothes, barefoot on Hermann’s floor.

He glanced over to see a pair of black glasses being held before his face, and an open drawer beside Hermann. “Your extra pair. I don’t know how you’ve been seeing anything these past years.”

“Lasik,” Newt muttered. “Wasn’t my idea.” He put the glasses on anyway, and grimaced at the prescription lens warping the room.

With a sigh, Newt took them off again, but studied them thoughtfully. Then with a muffled _aha!_ he pressed his thumbs to the lenses, and very carefully popped them out, setting them aside on the dresser, and put the frames back on, feeling more like himself than he had in _years_. “I know I look like the worst kind of hipster right now, but I _literally_ do not give a shit.”

“I think you look perfect,” Hermann said. “Though _personally_ , I believe those clothes would look a sight better if they were on my floor.”

“What are you talking about, I just got dressed— oooh, _nice_ ,” said Newt, and remembered his earlier plans. He turned to face Hermann, clasped his cheeks in both hands and smooshed their face together in a kiss before pulling away with a hearty _smacking_ sound. “I can’t believe all this, man, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“It’s all still there, you know,” Hermann said with a cough. A tinge of pink flushed his cheeks. “Or rather, it's there now. I assure you, this isn’t how my flat looked four years ago, I wasn’t _that_ much of an obsessive. This is how it appears now, in the Moyulan Shatterdome, where our bodies are at this moment. This is all waiting for you as soon as you wake up.”

Newt’s heart twisted and he had to step back for a second, his hands falling to Hermann’s shoulders, and looked back across the room that looked like the dream apartment he would have doodled in his notebook like a lovestruck teenager after his Drift with Hermann. “You want me to move in with you?”

Hermann rolled his eyes in exasperation, but the blush grew darker. “No, after spending the last year Drifting with your comatose body in the hopes of _somehow_ bringing you back to consciousness, I was thinking we could go back to being professional acquaintances.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“ _Yes,_ I was hoping you would move in with me!” Hermann snapped, looking distinctly ruffled. “My only fear it was not something _you_ would want. But I’ve made no secret of my interest I would like to think, Newton. I’m not the reserved fuddy-duddy you once knew, hung up on decorum!”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Newt said, his eyebrows rising to his hairline.

“Well…” Hermann faltered. “It is in large part your fault if I’m not. After our Drift, none of that seemed so important anymore.”

“Hey, I don’t mind. Direct is good in my book,” Newt protested. His heart was pounding, and it was too much. The room, seeing his things again, the prospect of getting his life back, and then sharing it with Hermann, even after all this time and all his fuck ups.

“Newt, are you alright?”

His hand went up under his glasses, and wow he wasn’t usually such a mess all the time, but he felt like he deserved it under the circumstances, because this was a _lot_. “I just…I thought about this, about my chances of coming out on the other side, y’know? And you guys figuring out how to stop it, and me surviving, and that somehow you’d even be able to tell that I didn’t want any of it. Maybe give me another chance. And it just seemed… so _small?_ Like ‘hitting a target the size of a penny on the other side of the _universe’_ small. Really, what were my odds?”

“Newton…”

“I was trying to end it that day.”

Hermann flinched. “... I know.”

“It’s the only reason They let me talk to you for that long. They were scared _shitless_ by how close I got. They used you to make me hold on.”

Hermann’s hand closed around his, squeezing it tight. “I’m glad they did.”

“ _I_ wasn’t, because I was so _close_ , y’know? I never got that close again, just totally blindsided Them that time. I just couldn’t do it… I couldn’t… not when you… Not again. And after all that, to think there was any chance of me h-having _anything_ afterwards...”

“It was never as impossible as you thought,” Hermann said gently. “What did you call it, ‘hitting a target the size of a penny, on the other end of the universe?’ We do that all the time, Newton, with mathematics. Which happens to be my specialty.”

Newt barked a laugh that was half coughing sob. “ _Really?_ You smooth motherfucker.”

Hermann’s smile broadened. And there really wasn’t anything Newt _could_ do, he was only human after all, except kiss that smile with all his might. Plans, right, he’d had plans that didn’t involve starting to cry again, or dwelling on the very shitty past. This was the future now, the very awesome future, and he was going to show Hermann just how awesome. Newt kissed down from Hermann’s lips, to his throat, his fingers coming up to undo the top button of Hermann’s shirt next.

“Newt,” Hermann muttered, the words muffled by Newt's hair. “What are you planning in that head of yours?”

“Oh I don’t know, I was just thinking since we have this bed here, we could try spicing it up a bit, and maybe I could show you my thanks for looking after my action figures.” Nervousness fluttered in Newt’s stomach, at each inch waiting for Hermann to protest, or tell him to stop, until he was on his knees, but there was suddenly long fingers in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and the tip of his ears. Newt gave a low murmur of approval, and grinned. “I bet the earlier me never did this, huh?”

“No,” Hermann said breathlessly, and before Newt could actually enjoy the smug rush of pleasure he felt at the thought, Hermann continued, “you did. This is almost exactly how we began our relationship last time as well. You are very predictable in this respect.”

“Oh.” Newt stopped, feeling a flicker of annoyance. _Thanks past self, making me look like an idiot._

“And last time ended with us in an undignified sprawl on the floor, so _maybe_ we could try the bed that is in fact right behind you? If you wouldn’t mind.”

Newt sighed.

There was a scrambling of limbs, muffled swearing, and a pile of clothes by the side of the bed along with a leaning cane before they were both under the covers, and the fact that they were actually _doing this_ could hit Newt full force. “So, uh, what _did_ we do last time?”

Hermann turned on his side to face him, one hand cupping his cheek. He looked thoughtful, not nearly as flustered or frankly buzzing with nervous energy and mingled need and fear to touch as Newt was, but at least the sight of him so relaxed was helping Newt to calm down a bit and breathe. “Quite a lot, at least for my experience. We were younger, enthusiastic, high on the recency of saving the world and with a Drift that mingled our very essence, so that all the places where we had once been as broken ends to one another were now fused into a seamless whole. Physical intimacy seemed only a natural extension of our newfound connection. We were hardly apart in those days, and we knew one another’s minds, bodies, and desires as our own.”

“So what you’re saying is: you were cool with all my weird fetishes,” Newt snickered.

That earned him a blush, which was good because things were getting heavy, with all the I-thought-I-was-going-to-die-and-kinda-wanted-to and getting Hermann sputtering with outrage was like coming home, “No!”

“ _Oh_ , so I was cool with all _your_ weird fetishes. Hermann Gottlieb! I’m scandalized, utterly scandalized. What even is in these drawers, hmm?” Newt rolled onto his side and pulled open the nightstand drawers. He wiggled his fingers as he reached in without breaking eye contact with Hermann. “Gentle glide lube? Useful, but did you really need a full liter bottle? Hmm, what else?” He set aside the manifested bottle as Hermann’s eyes widened and he gave an outraged squawk. “Fuzzy handcuffs? A bit pedestrian but I’m liking the hot pink fur, that’s hashtag aesthetic right there.” He tossed aside the handcuffs. “Nipple clamps, a paddle, shibari rope… Hermann, you dog, I had no idea!”

Hermann’s blush had reached his hairline. “None of that is in there!”

“Oh, and some condoms. Sensible. Safe sex is important, kids. But since we _are_ in a mindscape, a bit unnecessary, it’s not like anyone’s gonna get brain pregnant—”

“Newton!” Hermann squawked, and tackled him, all elbows as he scrambled over Newt’s side to pin his wrist to the mattress. “Stop it this instant!”

Newt smirked up at him, and rolled onto his back. “Make me.”

Hermann gave a huff and leaned down for a kiss, keeping his hand firmly on Newt’s wrist as he did so, and Newt let his own eyes to slide shut.

This was good. Like, how-did-They-make-me-forget- _this_ levels of comfort and feeling and _rightness_. He could the tendrils of their first Drift reaching out, the memories connecting. Dancing shadows with memories of breath against lips, the vertigo of being in two places at once as he felt Hermann’s memories, memories of _him_ , in his bones.

And beneath that the little stirrings of later experiences. Hot touches in the darkness of their shared room when they weren’t quite ready to talk about it yet, but they couldn’t keep their hands off each other at night when he woke up to Hermann’s long arms wrapped around him, and _knew_ that they had both wanted this, ever since the first letter,  beneath the screaming and the arguments and wow, there really _had_ been a lot of repressed sexual tension in that lab, huh? Tendo was right. Newt should probably send him a fruit basket in apology or something.

“Should we really be doing this now?” Hermann said, and broke the kiss. Concern furrowed his brow as he pulled away. “This is wasting valuable time with pure self indulgence, and far as I can tell, it’s not an avenue that is breaking this vision.”

“About that…” Newt grimaced. He should have trusted Hermann Gottlieb’s uncanny ability to dump ice water on any level of sexy times, but maybe there was enough Hermann left in his brain despite Their efforts that he couldn’t entirely shrug off his concerns. “I’ve been under in that coma for a year now, right?”

Hermann nodded, his lips tightening. “And the year before that your cell offered limited movement.”

 _Yikes_. “Yeah, as a biologist first and foremost, I’m gonna have to come clean on this one. That’s gonna be a shit-ton of physical therapy if it’s true and it is _not_ gonna be fun. I’m kinda dreading it. Sexy times are gonna be limited and probably not great for a bit.” Newt perked up. “But look on the bright side: mindscape, right? Hell, all the stuff about your leg is just in your head too, and I get it I mean, I’d lose the abs like _that_ with about two million cheeseburgers if it was that easy to just change ourselves and how we _think_ about ourselves in here.”

“Really, there’s no rush to get rid of the abs…” Hermann began, and blushed at Newt’s _look_. “Nevertheless, this is a gross self-indulgence given our time constraints.”

“I think we’ve earned a little self indulgence, don’t you?” Newt said. “We’ve been tearing through these Circles. Next is eight and nine and I am _not_ looking forward to whatever’s coming down the pipe there. Is a pit stop for morale really the worst way to spend our time? Especially if it works.”

“But it hasn’t so far,” Hermann pointed out. “Which implies that merely the possibility of lying with one another that day would not have significantly altered events.”

“It’s worth a try,” Newt said and waggled his eyebrows.

“But are you really certain about this?” Hermann insisted. “I have the advantage of memory here. I don’t wish to presume more familiarity than you recall. After all, for me this is not our first time, but for you…”

There was a flutter of nerves in Newt’s stomach, and he never thought he’d see the _fucking_ _day_ when Hermann Gottlieb was the more experienced of the two of them, _but_ … He rolled his eyes. “Oh no, I’m stuck in bed with someone who’s been inside my head and knows _all_  of my buttons better than I know them myself anymore. Oh woe, the absolute horror.” Hermann gave a sharp huff above him and Newt’s expression softened. “Come here, you.”

He could still feel the hesitance in Hermann’s kisses, as if afraid to break him. And since that was dumb as hell, he couldn’t really stand for it, and kissed back, harder, growing more confident with every minute Hermann didn’t jump back, pull away and declare this all a huge mistake.

Was that how it had been that first night? Delicate, tentative touches like a couple of lovestruck teenagers, each jumping at the slightest hint of hesitation, not sure how much of the Drift echo in their head was actual desires and not just half-considered impulses, and how to even extricate the two? Man, post-Drift sex must have been a _minefield_ of consent for Jaeger pilots.

But he sure as hell knew what _he_ wanted to do right now. Never let it be said Newt Geiszler wasn’t DTF, GGG and every other acronym for _ready to blow your mind_.

Newt guided Hermann onto his back and began to kiss lower, feeling the increase in Hermann’s heart rate as he laved his tongue across his chest and nipples, until the other man was gasping and twitching beneath him with half-formed encouragements. Newt showered special attention on the sharp angle of Hermann’s hip, his gaze lingering over the knotted white scars of old surgeries, and after a second’s thought kissing and nuzzling those for good measure too to the sound of a choked sigh of appreciation, before he took Hermann’s half-hard length in his mouth.

There was a gasp above him, and long fingers tangled in Newt’s hair, nails scraping at his scalp in light encouragement as Hermann’s back arched beneath him. This was all about gratitude and Newt was going to show Hermann a _good_ time for, well, everything. For coming to look for him. For holding on to his stuff. For being there. For Drifting with him that first time to save the world, and every time since to save Newt’s world. For a thousand, a _million_ small acts of being there for him, sharing the lab, tolerating his nonsense, and bickering with him when the stress of another attack was so bad it was have a screaming argument or go crazy.

… But he was also a selfish prick and right this was _just as much_ about showing off, because he’d be damned before he’d be shown up by his past self, when that asshole probably didn’t even appreciate what he _had_ at the time.

Newt braced himself and took Hermann down until his nose brushed the pale skin of his belly, bracing with his left hand as he swallowed and sucked. Hermann made a wild, shocked sound above him and his hands _clenched_ in Newt’s hair.

“ _Ah!_ A-Apologies,” Hermann gasped above him, reflexively releasing his grip, but Newt shook his head, bracing on his elbow so he could pat the hand tangled his hair and give it a squeeze. _Harder_.

Newt’s eyes slid shut in concentration and lazy contentment as Hermann took the cue and tugged at his hair. Not as hard as he could, not as hard as Newt could take it, but Hermann alternated between tugging and scraping his nails against the sensitive skin at the back of his neck. A shiver went down Newt’s spine and _fuck,_ he was so hard he needed to grind into the mattress for relief, moaning at the back of his throat.

Hermann made a desperate sound above him, and Newt tasted the first surge of pre-come on his tongue, swallowing it down and moving faster, his own hips grinding in counterpoint.

“N-Newt, t-that’s, _ah!_ ” Hermann gasped.

 _Fuck,_ Newt was going to come like this, grinding down into the mattress, taking Hermann as deep as he could go, with those little sounds and moans and Newt adjusted so he could slide a hand down, palming himself as he went for all he was worth, definitely one of his best performances and on the right person, the person he’d been wanting to do this to for _ten fucking years._ And it was too much to stay chill for, he could feel the sparks lighting up behind his eyes and he could barely keep from panting as each shudder of pleasure in his gut _pulsed_ and Hermann moaned above him. His hand tightened in Newt’s hair, the nails biting into his scalp and _oh fuck_.

Newt whimpered, doing his best to keep the pace going but the wave of pleasure slackened all his muscles, made his eyes roll back. He could feel how _close_ Hermann was, taste the pulse in his cock. When Hermann’s hand began to move minutely on his scalp, setting a pace Newt could barely maintain he moaned loud in encouragement, and it was so fucking hot, hearing Hermann cut loose, his quiet gasps turning to open moans, half-murmured apologies and pleas. 

He remembered another little perk of lucid dreaming, which was _no refractory time, baby_ , as Hermann  _tensed_ and shivered and came in his mouth and Newt whimpered, high pitch and needy as he felt another surge of pleasure wash over him and twist in his gut at the thought of hot all of this was, his cock pulsed in response as he came, shuddering and grinding against the mattress. 

He swallowed it all, barely tasting, before gently letting Herman slip free of his mouth as he lay back, gasping, thin chest rising and falling frantically. He couldn’t help nuzzling against Hermann’s stomach, showering it with open-mouthed kisses that had Hermann starting, gasping from oversensitivity, begging him up with the flutter of hands at his shoulders.

Hermann buried his face against Newt’s throat, moaning every breath, and Newt grinned but didn’t press in for a kiss. After all, he doubted Hermann was as casual as he was about kisses after oral. The guy probably hated his own taste and deserved a break after a frankly _awesome_ blowjob, if Newt was any judge and he _was_ and—oh, never mind they were kissing now.

“… Been so long, so long and so good, oh darling, you are too good to me,” Hermann panted between kisses. And hey, if he wasn’t protesting, Newt wasn’t going to. “What do you want? What can I do for you?”

“Fuck me?” Newt grinned, rubbing their noses together still high and hot, dizzying waves of post-orgasm glow warming his body.

Hermann frowned, still looking dazed and flushed. “You might need to wait a moment, I’m not sure I can…”

“Mindscape, babe,” Newt reminded him. “Refractory is just a dream told by an idiot, as is prep and chronic pain. How do you feel about pounding me into the mattress? Asking for a friend.”

“I can’t very well take you unprepared!” Hermann said, scandalized and ok way more scandalized at the idea of taking him _unprepared_ than taking him at all, that was interesting. _Kudos, past self, for not being shy about what a bottom bitch you can be._

“ _Fine_ , cursory effort. It’s not _real_ , it just needs to be enough to seem right in context. Seriously, Hermann, _mindscape sex_! When are we going to have this chance again?”

“It _would_ be an unforgivable misuse of military technology…”

“Oh, well when you put it that way, let’s make Drift sex a weekly thing. Misuse away, the jarheads deserve it. Hell, I’ll build a new Pons just for us out of garbage and sex toys if I need to. It’d sure beat running to the store for condoms.”

“ _Newt!_ ”

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Newt whined. He nuzzled against Hermann’s neck, scattering kisses. “Please fuck me. I need it, man. I just want to feel something again that isn’t awful.” 

Hermann stilled beneath him and ok maybe that was too far, not the best time to bring up ten years of sexual denial only supplemented by his hand when They would let him, and pure endorphins pumped into his brain under the most nightmare-fuel of circumstances.

“…Turn onto your stomach,” Hermann said, and reached over to the bedside for the lube, making a face at the size of the bottle Newt had conjured. Newt had to lick his lips, his mouth was so dry at the sight of the oil spilling so carefully over those long, pale fingers. He wouldn’t call either of them _conventionally_ attractive as these things went, but Hermann had the hands of a goddamn concert pianist.

Newt gave a happy sigh as he flopped down, his tattoos bright against the white sheets as he stretched out his arms in front of him and grabbed the pillow he imagined he’d be screaming into if this went as well as he hoped. Hermann sprawled beside him, eyeing the illustrated expanse of Newt’s back and shoulders as if it was a problem that need solving before his fingertips traced lightly down his back and Newt shivered in anticipation.

 _Oh god, oh fuck that’s good_. There were fingers tracing his backside, teasing at his entrance, and since they were Hermann’s fingers it didn’t take a stretch of manifesting to imagine it was the best damn fingering he’d had in his life. Newt purred and squirmed against the sheets, already aching hard again with just a little effort of imagining it was true, and he was ready again that quickly. At the first twist of Hermann’s fingers inside to brush his prostate he groaned, and bit into the pillow and scrunched his eyes shut against the wave of _need_ tightening inside him, moaning and squirming as Hermann worked him open with delicate care, occasionally brushing it again, until...

“Can you take another, darling?” Hermann murmured

“If I say yes, will you fuck me now?”

“You are nowhere near ready.”

“I am if I think I am, we’re in our _heads_ ,” Newt groaned, the sound more breathless than annoyed.

“Well, _I’m_ not satisfied that it’s enough _in context_. So if you can manage to _shut up_ for five minutes, I know it’s a monumental task, the sooner I can, to use your words, _pound you into the mattress_.”

“Ooh, talk dirty to me, babe,” Newt said and would have laughed at Hermann’s sigh of exasperation if not for the fact he chose that moment to give his fingers a little _twist_ that dragged a strangled gasp from the back of Newt’s throat.  

Every time after that he tried to insist he was ready there’d be another such twist and he was gasping and biting at the pillow which was becoming a makeout buddy at this point. And only when his cock was throbbing so he didn’t know if he would come again before Hermann got anywhere near inside him when he felt a light tap on his shoulder, and groaned at the loss of the fingers in his ass.

“I want to face you,” Hermann muttered.

“Wha—?” Newt’s brain rallied, putting together Hermann’s words. With a stuttered affirmative, he grabbed the pillow and wedged it under his lower back as he turned on his back to face Herman, and man he could get _used_ to the kissing but right now if Hermann didn’t touch him he was pretty sure he would die on the spot. Hermann’s eyes wandered up and down Newt’s body in a way that might have made him squirm and blush if his heart wasn’t threatening to pound out of his chest.

This position would probably be damn near impossible for them out there with the stress it put on Hermann’s leg. Even here through the haze of desire, Newt could tell Hermann was experiencing phantom pangs and consciously pushing them back by the flickers of pain that would occasionally jolt across his expression.

Newt knew he should probably say something, maybe get them to switch to a position that would be more natural, even if the pain was entirely an illusion, but half-mad on the first dose of honest-to-god human pleasure he’d had in he didn’t want to think about how long, if Hermann wasn’t going to say anything then he wasn’t going to insult the guy by bringing it up.

There was some fumbling between them as they adjusted to the angle, and a breathless moment of Newt staring into Hermann’s eyes before he lowered his gaze, brow creasing in shocked pleasure as he slid in and _oh, wow, ok… wow._ Hermann was arched over him, a line between his eyebrows and his lips trembling as he struggled to hold himself still.

With a groan, he dropped his head to Newt’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you,” Hermann breathed against his skin, so quiet he could almost pretend he’d imagined it.

Newt's heart _lurched_ , and he pressed a kiss to Hermann’s temple, to the grown-in fringe of that stupid haircut which was one of the little things he had missed most in the world for way too long. “You can move,” Newt mumbled, because if he said anything else it was going to be sappy, and his throat was going to start tightening up again. He didn’t want to think about the lost time right now. He just wanted to be _here_ getting something _back_ that they’d lost, and this time without him taking any of it for granted.

Hermann nodded, his movements shaky as he pulled in and out. Newt groaned and his head fell back against the bed, his muscles trembling as he just _held on_. In dreams the pleasure was half fantasy, without interruptions or awkwardness or pain. It was exactly the kind of sex he’d imagined when alone in bed, when he was allowed to fantasize and take himself in hand, jerking off to daydreams he hadn’t known were memories.

Hermann’s movements didn’t stay gentle, or tentative. They struck a rhythm, and by the time he was full seated within Newt the first time his tactics shifted and he was kissing Newt’s jaw when he shifted the angle and speed slightly, and…

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Newt squeaked, and grabbed Hermann so hard around the shoulders his pace stuttered. “Oh _fuck,_ how did you know how to do that?”

“Experience,” Hermann murmured, sounding terribly pleased with himself, and then his pace picked up again.

Suddenly Newt was scrabbling at Hermann’s shoulders, at his back, and there was no _way_ a skinny nerd like him should feel this fucking good, but holy _fuck_ , Hermann’s lips pressed to his pulse point, his breath teasing while his cock moved in and out hitting just the right spot every time. Then his hand slid between tehm to wrap around Newt’s cock. He wasn’t going to hold on. Newt couldn’t and this was going to be _embarrassing,_ because he couldn’t stop the whining, gasping pleas that were tumbling of his mouth as Hermann set the movement of his slick hand in time with his thrusts.

“I’m not—usually this— _fuck_ , Hermann, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna—”

“Go on, darling,” Hermann whispered in his ear, and Newt half wanted to hold out longer just to be a jerk about it, but the pleasure was curling in his toes and stealing his breath and he didn’t have the strength for a lot of things, but he _definitely_ didn’t have the strength to ignore a mind-blowing orgasm either.

Newt gasped and clenched around Hermann, as his mouth opened and his eyes closed, shuddering as the waves wracked him. He didn’t even try to muffle his cries as he spilled over his stomach, until they were cut off by Hermann’s lips clashing against his and that was it. He heard Hermann’s breath go stuttering and ragged as Newt tightened around him and dragged him close, his kisses turning hard and rough and breaking off only as he too made a helpless sound against Newt’s throat, his hips jerking as he came.

There wasn’t much point in trying to do _anything_ after that except lie back and let the feeling return to his toes. Hermann whispered apologies as he gently pulled himself free and there was jolt in the mattress as he lay flat on his back beside Newt.

“Perhaps you were right about Drift coupling,” Hermann said breathlessly.

“I know, I have the best ideas,” Newt replied without opening his eyes. “I’m also kinda pissed off that you’re this good in bed. I’m losing a bunch of bets over that, but I’ll get you back for it later.”

“I have the unfair advantage of a full memory of both our preferences, but that aside yes, I will confess I astonish myself sometimes.”

Newt smirked, and went to jab Hermann in the arm for that one, but it ended in a sort of lazy half-pat, half-stroke down his skin, his fingers traveling down until they found Hermann’s hand and held it.

They were still here. So some part of him, or his subconscious, or this place, really didn’t believe a toe-curling orgasm would have been enough to interrupt these events all those years ago. No accounting for taste on that one, Newt was pretty sure after sex like that he would have found the strength to _fly_ , let alone kick some ugly aliens out of his head to get more.

Technically they were in a hurry, but Newt didn’t particularly feel like he _wanted_ to be in a hurry right now. It was hardly the worst memory to get stuck in. The sun played over their skin from the cloudless blue day outside, and here they were at peace amidst the promise of their mingled lives, sweat cooling on their skins, and Newt curled onto his side to snuggle up against Hermann’s shoulder.

“I love you,” Newt murmured in his ear.

The bed vanished out from under them.

The room dissolved.

“Of-fucking- _course._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning (Contains Spoilers):** This chapter contains Newt confronting the fact that one way he can stop the Precursors is to kill himself as a way of saving the world. Newt has no desire to die, and when Hermann finds him just before he can jump to his death, his will to do so falters, because he doesn’t want Hermann to find his body.  
>  Later in the chapter, the two have consensual sex. If you'd like to skip it, all you need to know is Newt telling Hermann "I love you" during the post-coital glow is what breaks them out of the Circle. Please feel free to leave a note in the comments if you would like to avoid reading this chapter but would still like to read the rest of the fic, and I will be happy to give you a more in-depth summary of the events you need to know about going forward.
> 
> Actor|Observer is a real indie metal band based in the Boston area that was indeed playing at the Middle East nightclub in Cambridge around the time Newt would have canonically been at MIT, and are generally cool and niche enough that they seemed like the sort of band that Newt would like. They did not in fact break up after Trespasser, but are still touring to this day, should you want to check them out.
> 
> Stephen DeKnight recently confirmed that Newt's lack of glasses is due to Lasik, and that it was forced onto him by the Precursors.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! If you have the time, please consider letting me know what you thought of this chapter, it would mean the world to me!


	10. Fraud - Hermann

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then Virgil said: 'Quickly, say to him, "I am not him, I am not whom you think."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger Warning:** May contain some disturbing themes. Please jump to the end notes for clarification and spoilers if you’re concerned. 
> 
> Song: “Hero” by Regina Spektor.  
> This song is incredibly central to Hermann in this story, but in particular in this chapter. I daresay in a real way it’s his soundtrack. I’d recommend a listen.

Hermann grumbled as he rose to his feet and dusted himself off. Their clothes had returned the second the vision broke, but falling from a warm bed onto a cavern floor had the unwelcome ability to dampen even the loveliest post-coital glow. Newt lay sprawled on the ground, one arm tossed over his eyes, his glasses held loosely in the other hand and when Hermann stepped closer to help him stand, he waved him away. 

“No, it’s ok. Don’t mind me, I’m just going to lie here for a bit and hope the ground swallows me whole, thanks.”

“You really have the worst timing, don’t you?” Hermann said.

“Yeah, I was just thinking that actually, even my subconscious is out to get me on this one.”

“…Did you mean it?” Hermann said, and his fingers twisted around his cane while he tried not to let any of his nerves show on his face. 

Newt’s arm dropped from his eyes and he put his glasses back on to look owlishly up at Hermann. “Well, yeah?”

Hermann bristled. “You needn’t treat it as obvious. People say many things in the... _afterglow_ which they don’t mean. And besides, it’s not as if you ever said it before.”

Newt rocketed upright to a ninety-degree angle, and stared aghast at Hermann. “That _bastard_ never told you he loved you?”

“Need I remind you that ‘bastard’ is you,” Hermann said. “And no, I don’t think we got that far. There was always something in the way. And perhaps he wanted to be sure.”

“He was sure,” Newt said. “ _I’m_ sure, and he had way more time with you.”

“Perhaps ‘more time’ was the problem,” Hermann said, lips curling in a self-deprecating smile.

Newt shook his head violently. “No, you know what his problem was? He probably thought he had all the time in the _world_ to get it right. He was an idiot. This is the same guy who thought Drifting with a Kaiju meant either he’d be dead or alive. Surprise, asshole, there’s a third option and now we’re all fucked. This guy probably thought it would either work out with you, or it wouldn’t, and never even considered he might not get the _chance_ to say it.”

Hermann’s ears had gone hot, and he looked away. “Would you mind reverting back to the first person? Only the last time you spoke that way isn’t exactly a fond memory for me.”

“Oh. Shit, yeah. You know the Precursors were just fucking with you that time, right? They didn’t make mistakes like that. They just wanted to twist the knife because They fucking hated you. And me, for that matter, and They figured They’d won anyway and we’d be dead soon. Y’know, I’m beginning to think They blamed the two of us the most for closing the Breach?” Newt trailed off thoughtfully, then shook his head. “I was an idiot. I don’t know why I didn’t say it back then, but I should have, because I did. I’ve had ten years in solitary to think about it, so trust me on this one, you’re a Category Five.”

Hermann blinked. “I beg your pardon, are you comparing me to a Kaiju?”

“Category Five like… the biggest, and there’s only one. Shit, I guess there’s been at least two now after They opened those breaches, huh? Back when I thought of it the metaphor was sound. I missed a lot about my life after they took me, but those were all little Category Ones and Twos. Things like listening to music whenever I wanted, or I dunno, being able to go to sleep without knowing that each day was bringing us closer to the next apocalypse. But you were the only Category Five. You were the biggest.”

“I suppose that makes me the Mega Kaiju, these days,” Hermann mused.

“Yeah, the… wait, what? _Mega_ Kaiju? Is that a thing?”

Hermann grimaced. “I forget sometimes how much you’ve missed even when you appeared to be there.”

“Sorry, I’m still stuck on the name _Mega_ _Kaiju_. Did Tendo approve of that?” Newt said.

“No, in fact I’m listening to his rants on the matter to this day, but when three Kaiju combine to form one massive Kaiju, it needs a name on the fly and that one rather stuck, unfortunately.”

“ _Combined?_ Like the robots in Voltron?”

“ _No_ , of course not— Actually, it rather was like Voltron. How odd. Regardless, I’m afraid the Precursors in your body used some Shao technology to combine the three. It was undoubtedly the largest single creature of any category the Earth had ever seen, before we invaded.”

“I really need to see that. And I don’t say that as the Kaiju groupie, believe me, I just _really_ need to see some footage of that, because it sounds like utter bullshit that you’re using to mess with me. I knew the plan involved the drone Jaegers, and later it became about breaches, and then something about a volcano as a backup plan? But a lot of that they did behind my back. You’re not messing with me, right? _Mega_ Kaiju?”

“Unfortunately not.” Hermann extended his hand and this time Newt took it to clamber to his feet. Newt stood there, silent and thoughtful, making no effort to continue forward and Hermann stopped as well, waiting.

“… I’m sorry he—I didn’t say it sooner,” Newt said. He did not release Hermann’s hand, but also did not meet his eye. “And it’s not post-coital glow. I mean, it’s not just that, even if the glow is pretty awesome.”

“There’s no need to apologize. After all, any blame is shared. I was afraid to say anything too,” Hermann said. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Newt’s hand. “And I do. If my actions have not made it clear, let there be no question. I… I love you as well.”

“When you say it like that with your accent I feel like we’re in one of those BBC period dramas. ‘I love you, most _ardently_ ,’” Newt quipped, dropping into his fake British accent, but his cheeks were flushed. “Nah, I knew, man. Like you said, you’ve showed it, in like a million ways. I wasn’t going to make you do something as _uncouth_ as say it aloud. I got it.”

“Did you, really?” Hermann said, and searched Newt’s face. Newt’s head dropped lower. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I totally knew there was someone out there looking for me, and you were the only one hopeless enough to try.” He trailed off, choked off, and gaze still averted he slung an arm around Hermann, dragging him close. Newt squeezed him hard around the shoulders, crushing himself to his chest and in a tiny broken whisper squeaked out, “ _Thank you_.”

Hermann let him hang there, bracing himself on his cane with one hand and with the other he wrapped an arm around Newt’s waist and hugged him in return. “I could not have done otherwise,” he said, and meant it. 

“I’m not ready for the next ones,” Newt whispered. 

“Neither am I,” Hermann said. Circles Eight and Nine, Fraud and Treachery, and the last two years of their ordeal if the current structure held. Who knew what tragedies waited to be relived? But on the other side: a glimpse of light, the possibility of having Newt back out there, awake and alive outside this maze that was at once puzzle and prison. “But we must.”

“I just want to go home,” Newt mumbled. 

“I know,” Hermann said, and kissed Newt’s cheek. “So do I.”

 

* * *

 

When Hermann saw the name flash on his mobile phone, his heart leapt, and he answered the call that instant.

( _In the present, the vision closed around Hermann, and he saw just as it engulfed him that white boardroom in Moyulan, himself reaching into his pocket and dashing out of the room with a babbled apology._

No, no you idiot, do not answer it! _Hermann wanted to yell at his own ghostly form but he was both here and there once and the vision locked tight, and he was dragged under like a drowning man slipping beneath the water._ )

“Hermaaann, long time. Do you have a minute to chat?” Newt said ( _the Precursors oozed, and he wanted to curse at them for their lies, for putting their words in Newt’s mouth, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe_ ). 

“Of course, Newton,” Hermann said warmly. “I always have time for you. How may I be of service?” 

“Ha! You’re one step ahead of me, I actually did want to ask you a favor.”

“Are you alright? Is this about… Alice?” Hermann said. It had been a year since the rooftop, when an anguished Newton had told him of his intentions to leave his long-term girlfriend. His offer that, when they met again, they would ‘ _pick up where they left off_.’

They had spoken more often since then, albeit only snatches here and there. Newt was so busy that he had time for little else, but Hermann had come to treasure those brief calls. He did not wish to push the man, he had responsibilities after all, and he and Alice had been together far longer than his brief flirtation with Hermann, even if they had been lovers, and Newt sounded as if he wished them to be again. In the meantime, Hermann could only wait, a constant supportive presence, for the day when Newt would call him next, and guilt tore at Hermann every time he searched for some trace of mourning in Newt’s voice and those words: it’s over. 

“No, sorry buddy. I’m working on it, but Alice has got a big project going right now, and it would be hard for her if I up and left, you know? I can’t just take off without a word. Soon, I promise,” Newt said, with uncharacteristic flippancy for a man discussing breaking an innocent woman’s heart. But at least Newt showed some decency in his reluctance to leave her, Hermann would have begun to wonder if this really was his friend and former lover if he had not. Perhaps Newt was Alice’s main source of financial support, and it was not so simple to extricate himself to return to his rather pathetic, pining ex. The one he _had_ left without a word. “But listen, there’s something I’d love to get your advice on here at Shao. A little experiment. I’ll owe you in return if you could help a guy out.”

“Newton, it’s hardly appropriate for me as one of the supervisors for the Shao deliverables to be advising on your development,” Hermann dropped his voice as he spoke. “It could lend an impression of favoritism, or worse, bribery.”

“And hey, that’s the last thing I’d want to send your way. After all, it was _your_ vote that tipped the decision in our favor two years ago.” Newt laughed. “We’ll keep it unofficial, off the books. I’ll give you a tour of the facility and then we’ll grab dinner after, just two old friends catching up. I’ll have my secretary shoot you some plane tickets and a hotel reservation. How does tomorrow sound?”

Hermann glanced into the boardroom, where his colleagues were bent over in furious argument, studying a projected hologram. Their deadline was in two weeks and the crunch was becoming unbearable, but they could not ask for another extension without risking their funding. These days the PPDC was constantly called upon to justify its existence.

But it was Newt, and he needed Hermann’s help.

“I will need to return early the day after,” he said regretfully. “But yes, I believe I can make it. Please send them along.”

“Excellent!” Newt crowed. “Can’t wait to see you, dude.”

“Likewise, it’s been far too—” Hermann stopped. The line had already disconnected.

* * *

The sheer ostentation that attended his agreement to help was frankly dazzling, and if Hermann had not known better, he would say he was being courted. He often frequented the lecture circuit, and his disability did require extra comfort at times, when it could be arranged. But there were the modest privileges available to a distinguished academic and war veteran such as himself, and then there was the glittering excess available to the head of R&D at the world’s premiere up-and-coming arms manufacturers.

From the moment he had stepped out of the Moyulan Shatterdome, Hermann had been whisked away in a hired limousine by an impeccably mannered driver, who had seen to his every need, including helping him step into the vehicle, which had a fully stocked bar inside should he wish to “relax” in anticipation of his flight. Hermann had been far too strung up with nerves at the prospect of seeing Newt again to oblige, but the script seem to replay itself everywhere he went, starting from the puddle-jumper that took him to the Chinese mainland, where he sat alone except for the silent pilot in the butter-soft leather seats, another offering of high-class libations waiting in a glass cabinet beside him.

He finally gave in to what felt like the universe itself urging him to have a drink once he was seated on his main flight to Shanghai. Once again, Hermann was alone, this time in the first class cabin on the second floor situated even above business class in a Cathay Pacific jetliner.

“Dr. Geiszler wished for you to enjoy utmost comfort,” a soft-spoken stewardess had murmured in slightly accented English as she welcomed him to his seat. “He purchased all of the first class seats for this flight so you would not be troubled. Your trip is courtesy of Shao Industries, as a demonstration of their highest respect.”

“I… yes, thank you,” Hermann said as he glanced in bewilderment around the empty cabin. 

Hermann’s heart sank. It was all simply… too much. He felt very small and rather shabby in his old button down and cardigan against the polished excess, and he could not imagine how this would appear if it should ever get out that he had traveled in such a manner to visit the head of R&D at Shao Industries, much less while the company was still under contract to present its prototype to the PPDC in a year. 

But it would appear ungrateful to turn down Newt’s generosity and ask to be moved to a less ostentatious seat. Most likely, Newt had simply gotten carried away—as he often did—in the desire to show off what he had achieved, and he had achieved a great deal. Hermann would have to make an effort not to let on how uncomfortable the whole display had left him. The last thing he wanted was to puncture Newt’s enthusiasm when it was being channeled into something so otherwise harmless as showing off his gratitude at Hermann’s traveling there on such short notice. 

Harmless, except for the appearance of impropriety which would be the inevitable conclusion, should the jaunt ever be examined by an ethics board.

It was at that moment that Hermann decided he needed a drink after all. The menu had no listed prices, so he took a gamble on a simple gin and tonic, sipping it absently as he gazed out the window. Any attempt at getting some work done on the flight was well and truly shot. The in-flight meal was jewel-like slices of sashimi, an enormous expense these days when so many ocean habitats were poisoned still by the lingering effects of Kaiju Blue. It was delicious, but hardly filling, and the alcohol left him lightheaded when the plane touched down in Shanghai. 

Newt wasn’t waiting for him at the airport. Instead, there was yet another limousine driver, and Hermann drowned his silent dismay at the absence in a second gin and tonic, as this car was just as well stocked in alcohol and just as lacking of food as the previous one. It was dreadfully unprofessional, but Hermann told himself he needed steady nerves when he finally faced Newt, if not to make a fool of himself, and he would have a bit of time to freshen up at the hotel. 

Or so his thinking went, until the car pulled up to the entrance of Shao Industries. 

Hermann choked on his drink as the limousine eased to a halt in front of two parallel rows of white-clad engineering techs, and at the end of the line stood Newt, in all his glory. His suit was a deep purple that was almost black over an embroidered silk waistcoat. The sunglasses were back, clear frames over amber lenses. His mouth quirked into a thin, tight smile as the sight of the car and he gave a mocking salute in lieu of a wave.

The drink overbalanced, spilling droplets onto his trousers as Hermann scrambled to set it aside and find his briefcase. But the car door was already opening, the white-gloved driver bowing in respect as Hermann was ushered stumbling out of the back, clutching his briefcase and cane to his chest. The engineers eyed him as Hermann juggled the two until each was in the proper hand, painfully aware of the spreading stain on the knee of his trousers, thank God it had not been higher, as he walked stiffly down the line. The engineers held their heads high and unmoving as if under inspection for a military parade. Hermann nodded to each as politely as he could, feeling as if he were bobbing like a pigeon trying to greet all of them individually, until he came down the long line to where Newton stood, unmoving except for a lazy grin that grew as Hermann approached.

“ _Hermann_ ,” Newt said, and spread his hands in welcome. He threw one arm over Hermann’s shoulder, the weight shuddering through his back down to his leg, which nearly gave out at the pressure. He winced despite himself. Newt dragged him off balance into companionable side-hug, his closed fist locking briefly around Hermann’s throat before he drew away. Hermann could smell how his aftershave lingered, an unfamiliar spice, and blushed at the thought of how he had leaned into that touch here, in public, just out of sheer desperation to feel its warmth. “Thanks for coming to help us all out on such short notice, bud. You’re a real hero to everyone here at Shao.”

“I thought this was to be a personal favor on your behalf, Newton, not for Shao Industries,” Hermann muttered. Two attendants opened the door behind them into the cathedral-like entrance of the corporation, the chill of climate-controlled air washing over Hermann. “In fact, I thought I made it _quite_  clear that I feared the appearance of impropriety.”

“Did you? I’m sorry, man, I’ll take care of it. We’ll put the trip down as an inspection tour and paper the whole thing over,” Newt said easily. Anxiety squirmed in Hermann’s gut, and he grimaced to bite back his further protest. What else could be done? His choices were to let Shao Industries rewrite the matter or report it himself, where it might damage the reputation of Newton’s work, perhaps even lead to a canceling of the contract. If Newt felt he could solve the issue so easily, it might be best to simply let him. 

He really wished he had not taken that second gin and tonic. His pain medication for his leg meant he could only drink sparingly, and now his head was buzzing and cloudy as he walked one stutter-step behind Newt through the polished white halls. Everywhere they went, employees turned to watch Newt go by, as if wary of him, and it sent a chill down Hermann’s spine that he could not explain. 

There were some few employees, though, who were caught off guard by Newt as glad-handed his way through the building, smiling and giving words of encouragement and a pat on the back to the employees who could not flee in time. Newt had always been comfortable—if not always well received—with people in a way that eluded Hermann, and he felt like a scuttling shadow in the presence of that gleam until they reached a palatial room that could only be Newt’s office. 

It featured a stark white desk, all polished sleek angles, and leather chair overlooking the city of Shanghai. Glittering display screens lined the walls, as did bookshelves that looked as if they had never been used and were only for appearance. If there was a molecule of dust in there then Hermann was hard-pressed to see it. He could not imagine a space more different from their shared lab in the Hong Kong Shatterdome all those years before.

Newt threw himself into his chair, sprawling out and placing his feet on the desk as he spun to face Hermann. There was no chair before it, so Hermann simply stood, both hands on his cane, as he looked down on Newt in what was now his natural environment.

“What exactly did you summon me here for, Newton?” Hermann said stiffly. 

“Oh, you want to get right down to business, huh? I thought you’d want to catch up a little first,” Newt said. His tongue darted over his lips, an expression of hurt flickering across his face, and leaving a pang in Hermann’s heart. His posture sagged. 

“I’ve been traveling since six this morning on this critical errand of yours, and I’d rather not come all this way for nothing. Perhaps it is best if we simply ‘get right down to business’?”

Newt took his glasses off thoughtfully and folded them, then jabbed the end at Hermann, “I’ve always liked that about you, Hermann, focused. You wouldn’t let anything get in the way of proving your theory right about the three Kaiju, not even if it meant Drifting with a Kaiju brain. I mean, by that point I’d already done it once, so it was hardly heroic or anything, but still ballsy.” His teeth flashed as he smiled, and he put the glasses in his breast pocket. “We’ve got some amazing things happening here at Shao, but if you couldn’t tell from when we walked in here, all my engineers are idiots.” 

“I could hardly comment.”

“They are, trust me. They’re still building the form factor of the Jaeger like there’s gonna be a damn human being inside there, no matter how many times I tell them it’s unnecessary.  They just can’t seem to get the idea through their heads, and I’m like, why does it even need a head? And they say, _because we’ve always done it that way_.”

“Yes, I see your point,” Hermann’s brow furrowed in concentration, his mind leaping into overdrive despite himself. “The anthropomorphic figure itself was always meant as an aid for the pilots more than as a sensible design for a weapon. As the Wei triplets demonstrated with Crimson Typhoon, adding additional limbs gave an undeniable advantage, but it was too much of a cognitive leap for most pilots and far easier to simply match the human form to reduce the learning curve. But the structure was also top heavy to protect the pilots who needed to be on-site, a problem you do not face.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Newt exclaimed. “See, I knew you’d understand immediately. You worked on it back in the day, right, what was it called… the Mark 1 program?” Newt snapped his fingers as he thought, pointing at Hermann as he found the word. 

Hermann frowned. It was hardly a personal detail he thought Newt would forget. Had he really fallen so far from this man’s thoughts? “Indeed. It was a problem we considered. Without a pilot to protect, Shao Industries could make use of a serious advantage in terms of weight and efficiency of form.”

Newt leapt to his feet and rounded his desk. “Do you think you’ve got it in you to give some pointers to my team? I know half of them grew up idolizing you, and the other half idolized Lightcap. It’ll be like bring-a-celebrity-to-work day.”

Hermann blushed. _Celebrity_ was hardly a term he attached to himself, though he knew it applied even outside academic circles. “If you think it would be of help…”

“Hermann, my man,” Newt grabbed his arm, guiding Hermann towards the door, “anything you do is going to change _lives_.”

* * *

The lab was intoxicating. No sooner did Hermann enter the door than the room went silent, and then exploded into whispers as the assembled engineers recognized him. All the earlier discomforts and indignities melted away as Hermann was welcomed in with near-reverence, and ushered to a table glowing with holographic Jaeger form projections.

Newt stood to the side, leaning against the wall, watching. His sunglasses were back on, and he wore a smirk of unmistakable pride as he watched Hermann work, and Hermann could not help but bask in that glow. The Shao engineers were eager to learn, nodding and scribbling frantic notes at every word Hermann said and before his eyes the ungainly models of the Jaegers shifted above the shoulders, becoming lighter, more aerodynamic, and armored against strikes to the real vulnerability: the nuclear core in the chest.

It was several hours later when Hermann looked up and realized how much time had passed. The lab was buzzing, Shao engineers talking amongst themselves, but the tide had receded from Hermann’s side and he stood slightly apart, alone against the shining white walls. 

A slow clap began behind him. 

“That, Hermann, was amazing,” Newt said, and from a table beside him, he plucked two tall glasses of sparkling golden champagne. He handed one to Hermann, who felt too dazed from the rush of innovation to refuse. “I’ve never seen anything like it. In four hours you cracked through those skulls in a way I haven’t been able to in four months. Cheers.”

Newt clinked their glasses together, and touched his to his lips, his tongue flickering around the gold-plated rim, watching through his amber sunglasses. Hermann swallowed at the sight, swaying forward as if the world’s gravity had shifted to a spot between them, drawing him in, before he caught himself and took a hasty swig of his champagne. The thrill of discovery sang through him, but he checked himself firmly. He could hardly express the glow of delight and the desire sparking in his veins by kissing Newt in front of all his engineers! What had possessed him to even consider it?

“I confess, it was an extraordinary feeling. It’s been so long since the PPDC has had an interest to pursue true innovation. Half my job these days is fighting for every scrap of funding we can get our hands on,” Hermann said, recovering himself. The champagne was excellent, and he was parched. The thought of eating, or drinking even water had slipped his mind in the rush, a realization that struck only as the alcohol hit his naggingly empty stomach. “But here you simply snap your fingers and it’s done.”

“Pretty sweet, huh?” Newt said. 

“I can certainly understand the allure, and why you might hesitate to return to us at the PPDC,” Hermann said. His heart lurched as he studied Newt’s face, looking for any sign of reluctance.

“Yeah, about that…” Newt said. His eyes tracked Hermann behind the amber sunglasses, and narrowed as if in calculation. Then his face creased into a grin. “It’s been great, but in a year once our work is done, I’ll be itching to leave this place. Save a spot for me on the other side, won’t you?”

Hermann bit back a sigh of relief. “Of course. You were never one to be seduced by shallow appearance.” _I’m proof enough of that_. “It was always the work that attracted you, and once that’s done I imagine your role here will be merely administrative.”

“You know me, always ready to move on to the next conquest.” Newt laughed, and Hermann smiled in return at the man’s exuberance, as if he had a secret that no one else knew. “Speaking of which, why don’t we get out of here? These monkeys will be picking over what you dropped on their heads until doomsday. We should go celebrate.”

“What did you have in mind?” Hermann said, a trifle breathless. At some point, he’d managed to drain most of his glass, and the thrill of being so close to Newt again left him dizzy.

“I was thinking room service and another bottle of this…” Newt said, and he leaned in, his breath brushing the shell of Hermann’s ear as he added conspiratorially, “… at your place.”

Hermann’s throat seized, and a surge of heat flashed in his veins. And behind it, the weight of a stone settling into his stomach. “Alice… is she… are you two…?”

“Does it matter?” Newt said. He shifted so that his back was to the engineers, leaning in as if they were simply having a private conversation and did not wish to be overheard, but his cheek lingered so close to Hermann’s as he whispered that he could feel the heat radiating off it. Or perhaps that was just his own cheeks, blushing from the champagne. 

Hermann swallowed. “To me it does, yes.”

Newt drew back and a small part of Hermann regretted it, wanted to call him back and assure him, to plead that he really _didn’t_ mind. “She knows the end is coming within a year, give or take. And she knows you’re in town. Anyway, my relationship with her was always meant to be temporary.”

“What?” Hermann breathed, shock jolting him like lightning through his body, and with it a white flash of terrible hope. 

“Alice helped me get the Shao job, you never thought the timing was weird? Oh, there was a bit here and there, where I thought she and I might make it work long term. But really these days I think I just want to get back home… to you. Once all of this is over,” Newt lifted his gaze. “Alice knows that. Consider this her blessing.”

“Newton…” Hermann said. His stomach twisted. This was wrong, he had no idea if any of this was true, he had never accepted Newt’s offer to meet Alice, and so had no idea if he could trust what he was saying. 

Except it was Newt. They’d been inside one another’s heads, and nowhere had he seen the kind of duplicity it would take to make such a claim if it wasn’t true. But then, there had been nothing there to indicate that he would enter into a relationship with someone in the hopes of securing a position. Had he really understood so little about Newt, or had the other man simply been fleeing? Fleeing a dying and soon to be obsolete PPDC, fleeing stagnation, fleeing insufficient resources and constant battles for the smallest concession or respect for his research? Fleeing Hermann? 

And now he wanted to come back. 

He should say no. 

“Yes,” Hermann mumbled. His head was spinning and his tongue felt clumsy, but his blood was on fire. He wanted this, and he was too far gone to care a second longer if it was right to have it. “If Alice doesn’t mind.”

Newt leaned in, looking past Hermann as he whispered in his ear, “Not one bit.”

* * *

Hermann barely remembered checking in, or walking through the marble lobby of the Mandarin Oriental. His body felt as if it was on fire, shaking with the proximity of Newton’s body, the little glances he stole from behind his sunglasses, the way he seemed to watch Hermann as if he was delectable.

Hermann half expected to be shoved against the door and kissed senseless the moment it clicked shut behind them, what had once been one of Newt’s favorite games when they were together, and had the protests ready for how they couldn’t, they shouldn’t, not with his leg, not with how _wrong_ it was. 

But Newt simply walked past. The hotel room had the layout of a single bedroom apartment, and the bed was beyond a sliding panel. The sitting room before them had a table laid out with a bottle of champagne chilling in the center and two crystalline glasses. There were another two bottles beside the table in buckets of ice, waiting.

“The food should be here soon, I had my secretary call ahead,” Newt said and with surprising strength pulled the cork out of the bottle with an easy snap of his wrist, then filled the two glasses before it could overflow. “Sit down, have a drink while we wait. You’ve been on your feet all day.”

“I’d rather not,” Hermann muttered, too softly for it to carry to Newt, as he eyed the champagne bottles. He no longer felt hungry, but he was well aware it was champagne taking the place of food, and if he did not eat something soon he’d be in for a nightmarish morning. 

“Ah, come on, it’s a special occasion,” Newt said. There was a cream-colored loveseat beside the table, and Newt patted the spot beside him. “We haven’t seen each other in ages, let’s catch up. What’s going on inside the brain of Hermann Gottlieb?” Newt studied him from behind his glasses as if he could see inside Hermann’s head from where he sat. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hermann sighed, and took the seat beside Newt. “Constant funding battles, endlessly justifying one's existence, spiced up with the occasional speaking event to make ends meet. After so long with the PPDC I’m not sure I know how to belong anywhere else. Not alone. I’m afraid I lacked your sense of adventure in that respect."

“Ha!” Newt exclaimed in genuine delight as if Hermann had made a wonderful joke. “Well, I suppose that’s to be expected without me there to drag you out of your shell. But a year from now? You and me together, buddy, we’ll set the world on fire.”

Hermann’s cheeks flushed, and when Newt leaned towards him he leaned forward in return, expecting an embrace, perhaps more. When had he become so starved for physical contact? But Newt merely placed the bubbling glass down in front of him, but lingered a few inches away, staring into Hermann’s eyes. He wished Newt would remove those damnable sunglasses. He felt as if he was looking into a mask. 

“But enough about our boring jobs. I meant what’s going on inside your _brain_ , Hermann? What are you planning these days when you’re not slaving away for a bunch of idiot Jaeger pilots?” Newt said, and took a sip of his champagne, nodding at Hermann to do the same. 

He pinched the stem of his glass between two fingers but did not drink. “I’ve been thinking a great deal about rocket propulsion. When the Kaiju arrived it put any resources available for Earth’s space programs on hold, except for that handful of desperate, ill-fated escape projects. The ISS has been dark for over a decade. But we’ve barely scratched the surface of what can be gleaned from our encounter with the Kaiju. Innovations of physical sciences, how their bones were structured to handle such immense weight, or how their veins pumped their blood over such vast distances, have enormous implications for the future of human innovation. There’s so much out there, yet all our efforts go to rebuilding what we’ve lost instead of seeking a new way forward.”

“That’s understandable though, isn’t it?” Newt said. “I mean, the Kaiju beat the pants off us last time. Earth barely made it if not for a stupid fluke. You couldn’t blame humanity for wanting to crawl down a hole for a bit to lick its wounds.”

Hermann frowned. “No, you could not. But when we came under attack, we dreamed impossible dreams, pushed ourselves to the limits of our abilities, and survived. I would hate to see such brilliance fade out simply because we no longer have an enemy to oppose. Or worse, that we would turn on each other amidst the ruins, scrabbling once more for finite resources when there’s a whole universe out there.”

“Yeah, it would be a real shame if humanity never got off this tiny rock and saw what the rest of the universe has in store for them,” Newt drawled. “What about breaches?”

“I beg your pardon?” 

(No, don’t do it, don’t say it. Shut your mouth this instant and send him away! _Hermann begged and screamed at the back of his own mind, but the vision held him in its jaws and would not let go._ )

“Breaches.” Newt licked his lips, and Hermann wished he would kiss him instead of asking so many inane questions, but this was Newt after all. “Why go up to the stars when we could go down?”

“No one fully understands how the Breach functioned…” Hermann said cautiously.

“Except for you,” said Newt. “Here, have a drink, you’re starting to make me feel like a lush.” His eyes never left Hermann as he acquiesced, taking a careful sip of champagne that turned to a startled mouthful as Newt leaned in, his breath grazing the pulse point at Hermann’s throat. 

“Well, yes, but…” Hermann sighed as Newt moved in closer, his lips ghosting over but never quite touching the skin. “I’m not sure how to open one to anywhere except the Anteverse. The data requires decades more study before we can understand how to route the passageways to… to different… planes…” 

Newt’s fingers traced down the back of Hermann’s cardigan, barely there, and at each brush, Hermann shuddered, arousal coupling with the haze of the alcohol. 

“Forget other planes,” Newt murmured. “What if _we_ wanted to launch an attack, hmm? How would _we_ get there from _here?_ ”

( _Don’t say it!_ )

“Well, to begin, that would be the stupidest plan anyone has ever conceived,” Hermann slurred. He closed his eyes. The world tilted. “All of our victories have been Pyrrhic. Our limited scans show no oxygen in the Anteverse, not to mention extreme gravity, toxic conditions, and cancerous radiation. Without a sophisticated drone fleet like yours, it would be a suicide mission, so I hope that’s not something Shao is planning.”

“I’m just curious,” Newt purred. “I’ve always loved watching your brain work.”

It was flattery. Was it flattery? He distinctly remembered _his_ Newt making the ‘ _blahblahblah_ ’ gesture whenever Hermann went into the weeds on his theories. But where had that thought come from? Wasn’t this his Newt? Or had time and an enviable salary, luxuries, and titles really made him something other, someone who loved watching Hermann’s _brain_ work?

“For us to open a breach from this side would require… “ Hermann frowned, struggling to piece together words through the haze. “It would require…” 

Newt stirred impatiently beside him and filled Hermann’s glass again.

“Highly concentrated energy, directed towards…”

( _Stop, please!_ )

“ _Shhhh…_. _”_ Warm lips captured Hermann’s and he opened his eyes to see Newt leaning in, kissing him softly. Their noses brushed, and Hermann sighed, melting against him, the words stilled. The vision loosened. He could _breathe_. “ _Shhh,_ don’t. Don’t say it.” 

“But I _did_ ,” Hermann gasped as he broke away. He began to shake violently, his eyes screwed shut against the memory of what had happened next all those years before.

_He had told them everything, what energy signature to use, the power required, the tools that would be needed, how a Jaeger could carry the equipment to the appropriate spots along the Pacific Rim where the barrier was still the most fragile from the previous incursion. He had told it all that night._

_And no sooner had he, than a beeping came from Newt’s mobile phone and he had risen to his feet in alarm. Hermann lurched in his seat at the sudden absence._

_“Oh shit. Shit. Sorry man, Alice just texted. It’s an emergency, she’s in the hospital.”_

_“Is it… very serious?” Hermann slurred. His eyelids felt heavy and he swayed._

_“Not sure yet, but I gotta check, right? I can’t just_ not _visit her, even if it turns out to be nothing, y’know? That would be a sin.”_

_Hermann nodded. “Of course. Of course, Newton, I understand, but perhaps after, if she’s alright…?” But his flight was at six in the morning, at his own insistence, and it was already past midnight. “Perhaps we can see one another again soon?”_

_“The minute I can get Shao off my back it’s a date, bud,” Newt leaned down, and Hermann craned his face up, expecting a kiss, only to feel a hard slap on the shoulder. “Sorry about the food not showing up, guess my secretary forgot, huh?” And before he knew it, Newt had turned and was halfway to the door._

_“Newton, I…” Hermann called after him._ I’ve missed you, _he had wanted to say, but the door was already open. Newt cast one last look at him. A secret smile played across his lips that Hermann wanted to imagine was fond, or perhaps wistful, but only seemed amused as Newt gave a mocking salute, and shut the door behind him._

_His absence left Hermann cold and aching, and he was barely able to stumble the short distance to the bed to snatch two hours sleep before his flight. Hermann awoke with his head throbbing, and his stomach churned with nausea all throughout the early morning flight back to Moyulan, as if his body already knew what his mind was still too dull to see._

_For long after, the memory of that night remained fuzzy in his head, drowned in too much champagne. So for all its disappointments, Hermann justified it to himself as merely a rare and welcome chance to see Newt, even if they were interrupted by damnable ill luck. At least it prevented Hermann from any actions he might regret, such as aiding Newt in infidelity, no matter how negotiated it might have been. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise, that now should their relationship resume, they would do so with a clean record, and no shadow of shame attached._

_It hadn’t been until a year later that he understood, as he watched the live footage of the hybrid drones, chains of light pouring from their chest into the shelf of the Pacific, tearing open hundreds of breaches back into the Anteverse. Only then he realized what he had done._

Hermann opened his eyes, and when he did, his Newt was there, offering a lopsided grin that was all his own. “It’s ok, I’m here. I've got you.”

Hermann stared. 

Then, slowly, he covered his face with a shaking hand, and burst into tears.

The vision shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger Warning (with spoilers):** This chapter contains a seduction of Hermann by the Precursors under false premises (pretending to be Newt), including steps like plying him with alcohol. While no sexual contact is ultimately made, there is veiled abusive and gaslighting behavior throughout.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I'm rather proud of this chapter, even if I felt like I needed to take a shower after writing it. I would love to hear your thoughts, if you have a moment to share them!


	11. Malebolge - Newt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unburden yourself of sorrow, and know that I am always with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: “Can’t Help Falling In Love” (cover) by Joseph Vincent. I’d recommend turning it on at a certain point of the chapter, which should make itself clear.

Hermann collapsed with a wrenching sob into Newt’s arms, as the vision of the hotel room faded around them. Newt staggered under his weight, barely hefting Hermann against his shoulder in time to bring them to the cavern floor in some kind of controlled fall.

Hermann yanked free of his grip as soon as they settled there, and curled in on himself against the wall, his hand covering his face. His chest heaved as he sucked in air between sobs, and Newt saw a flash of their Drift, of a little boy with his arms wrapped around his knees, crying his heart out in an empty classroom.

“Hey, _shhh_ , it’s ok,” Newt said, and put a tentative hand on the back of Hermann’s neck, rubbing small circles against his skin. “It’s ok. It’s not your fault.”

“I told them everything,” Hermann choked, the words muffled by his hand. “They didn’t know until I told them. I corrected their _damned_ drones, and then I gave them everything they needed to destroy us!”

“Whoa, whoa wait a minute.” Newt scrambled to his knees and leaned towards Hermann to try to steal a glimpse of his face. “These guys _made_ the Breach. They would have figured all of that out eventually. They probably already did and just wanted to mess with you. And look, it’s working! You’re giving those assholes what they want, Herms. Stop giving them what they want!”

“They didn’t know the equipment they needed,” Hermann rasped. “They didn’t know the frequency. They didn’t know where the shelf was the weakest. To learn all of that would have required experiments, and those would have required _time_ , and in that time we might have discovered their activities and stopped them before any of this could happen!”

“Now you sound like me. Yeah, it might have delayed it, but it might still have happened. This isn’t on you!”

“You _know_ that isn’t true! It was clear from the automation of Shao Industries that the Precursors’ original plan was to wipe out our population centers with the hybrid drones. Otherwise, they would have simply opened the breaches from the beginning, and allowed Kaiju to pour in before our forces recovered. If they changed their plan later, it was because _I_ gave them the possibility. I handed it to them, and all the while you were trapped inside, screaming no doubt, and I never _once_ questioned your behavior, or the oddness of the situation. I let them seduce me because I was so _desperate_ to be seduced!”

“That’s not… well, that’s not really…” Newt winced. He _had_ been screaming inside, watching through the narrow keyhole the Precursors allowed him so he could watch the whole thing.

It was just enough to see Hermann, flushed and bewildered, practically falling over from the alcohol those bastards had poured down his throat. That could have been the only reason, right? That must have been why Hermann kept leaning into him, kept looking at Newt all soft with his cheeks flushed. Newt hadn’t known what to make of it, not with the holes in his memories. He had been too busy to wonder what it could mean, as he clawed and screamed at the Precursors to _stop, leave him alone, he’s not part of this!_

“That’s beside the point!” Newt finally said, but Hermann only shook his head, revealing a glimpse of his face twisted in agony.

“It is _exactly_ the point! Because if they had not used my knowledge of the Breach to open more, our world would never have known we possessed the technology to do so, and we never would have made the plan to invade!” Newt started as Hermann slammed his fist against the cavern wall, then curled back in on himself, coughing out sobs. “And if we had never invaded, I never would have had to build that _damnable_ bomb before the Precursors could launch their counter-assault after our ground forces failed—as everyone should have known they would—an assault we could have _never_ survived. All because our bloodthirsty, _idiotic_ leadership saw those breaches open, and thought it was time to take a hopeless fight to them!”

“But it wasn’t hopeless, you _won_ , and—god, I can’t believe I’m agreeing with the jarheads—you did what you had to. The Precursors were just going to invade again, and again and again until They were stopped. And hey,” Newt’s lip quirked in what he hoped was a comforting smile, if only Hermann would stop covering his face, “you freed me too with that bomb, so I can’t say I’m totally upset about it.”

Hermann gave a tight groan. “I had no way of knowing that at the time. You simply _collapsed_. At least when they spoke through you, I thought I saw glimpses of you, some signs that you were alive in there. When they died you… you _screamed_ , and I had _every_ reason to believe I had just killed you myself.”

“But you didn’t, Herms, because that wasn’t me. They _buried_ me, remember? None of what They said to you was ever me.” Hermann didn’t stir at Newt’s hand returning to the back of his neck so he dared a little more, wrapping his arm around Hermann’s shoulders and pulling him close. “The last time I spoke to you was when I warned you that They were in my head, and the last time before that was on the roof. That whole vision? That wasn’t me, and that means it’s not our fault, either of us. They used my face to get you to talk, and it worked because you didn’t know yet. You couldn’t have known.”

“I could have,” Hermann muttered. “There were a thousand signs, a _million_ , but I refused to see them.”

“Yeah, well… fine. But it happened.” Newt cringed, and wished he was better at this. “It happened to _both_ of us, and we gotta live with it. But it’s not your fault, Hermann. We did _everything_ right. We saved the fucking world! The Precursors wouldn’t have even _known_ about you and me if we hadn’t Drifted with Them. I mean, are you kidding? They didn’t give a shit about individual _humans_ before that. But after we Drifted with the hive mind? It made Them think _we_ were the human Precursors, and the Jaegers were our Kaiju! We were the first beings on _any_ planet to figure out the Precursors’ little game and _shut them down_. That made us Their equals, and it made Them go _ballistic_ , just absolutely batshit, looney-tunes levels of _insanely furious_. So They came after us, specifically, just to hurt us. But you know what? Instead of just hating us, They should have been _scared_ of us because we put them in the fucking _ground._ ” Newt’s lip quirked in a half-hearted, self-deprecating smile. “Well, let’s get one thing straight, that was mostly you. But They could have waited us out. They waited out the dinosaurs! They waited millions of years to get our little planet, but this time? They just _couldn’t wait,_ and I’ve been wondering for _ages_ why that was. And I finally figured it out. It was us. You and me. They decided to come back _within_ our stupid, tiny little human lifetimes, just to fuck with you and me because They hated us _so much_.”

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?” Hermann sniffed.

“Is it? Is it making you feel better? God, I hope some of this is making you feel better. But no, my point is you should be fucking furious, but you should also be fucking _pumped_ that you took Them down, because that little stunt in the hotel? That was all about _you,_ it was about torturing _you_. And you know what? Even after all of that bullshit, all of that torture, all of their _plans_ , even after getting _me_ on their side, Hermann _fucking_ Gottlieb was such a badass that he took down the most evil motherfuckers in the universe, by _himself._ ”

“I had no idea you were such a fan of mine, Newton,” Hermann said, in a whisper from exhaustion. He was still hunched in on himself, but his hand no longer covered his face, and he looked wryly up at Newt from red-rimmed eyes.

A thrill of success raced Newt and he plunged on, “Are you kidding me, man? I’m the founding _fucking_ member of the Hermann Gottlieb fan club! Even when we were exchanging those goddamn snail-mail letters, I thought you were the coolest person I’d ever not-met!”

“If only we hadn’t mucked it up by actually meeting,” Hermann murmured.

“Yeah, sure, we got off to a bumpy start. Ok, a _really_ bumpy start. You’re kind of a weird dude. But I’m the only person allowed to call you a weird dude! And even back then I would fucking _fight_ anyone who made fun of your stupid hair, or your inane theories, or your annoying voice…”

“Newton, you are _terrible_ at this,” Hermann said with mingled fondness and exasperation, but at least he was smiling, just a little.

“God, don’t I know it. Does that mean I can stop? Please tell me you’re feeling a little better so I can stop, or I’m gonna have to turn that vision back on, or better yet invent a time machine to go beat the _shit_ out of those bastards in my body, I swear—”

“Newton.”

“ _What?_ ”

Hermann uncurled, and looked up at Newt. His face was a mess from crying, all blotchy and covered in snot and tears, and Newt had never seen anyone so fucking gorgeous in his life. “I missed you in there. Terribly. Perhaps the first time I could not distinguish, or chose not to see that there was something so deeply wrong. But this time there could be no doubt, and I spent every second, every _breath_ of that memory wishing I had you back.”

“Oh.” Newt suddenly felt very small and hot as a blush crept up his throat. “Well, the feeling was mutual. It was tough getting out of there at first, but I had _some_ motivation. The past you was so _oblivious_ , I couldn’t stand it! The way you kept falling for his lines—!”

“Newton.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s not funny.”

“… No, I guess it isn’t, is it? Can I, uh, just hug you again?”

“Heavens, yes. Please.”

 

* * *

 

Hermann was the one who insisted they keep going, of course. Even though the guy dragged from Newt’s shoulder as they walked, leaning heavily on his cane, his gaze remained studiously forward even though the vestiges of the storm of weeping were still visible in the puffiness around his eyes and his tightened jaw.

Newt stole glances at him as they walked. He felt he was noticing for the first time something… jagged in Hermann, like a broken bone that hadn’t set right. And who could fucking blame him after a shitshow like what the Precursors did to him with that Shao visit? But Hermann kept moving forward anyway, like he didn’t have a choice. Maybe it was like his leg, and he had just learned from a young age that the world wasn’t going to slow down for him, so he’d just have to keep walking on it no matter how much it hurt.

The thought made Newt feel furious, and then helpless, which was way worse and way too familiar. Why the fuck after getting tortured like that did Hermann have to be so goddamn stoic? Who the fuck had made him think he had to _be_ like that? Sure, it was Nine next. It was freedom from his head, maybe a life outside this goddamn cave and the deepest, darkest regions of his psyche, but none of that fucking _mattered_ if it meant Hermann had to look like _this_ : wrung out and exhausted and pale like it was one of the worst stretches of weeks after a Kaiju attack and everyone was working thirty-six hours at a stretch and sleeping three. They shouldn’t have to _do_ that anymore. The Kaiju were gone. The Precursors were gone. This was all just mopping up now and Newt was just the last of the mess, and it wasn’t Hermann’s fucking _job_ to clean it up, if this was going to be the cost.

Newt made a decision then. Sure it would mean longer down here. Christ, it wasn’t even totally selfless because the thought of Nine scared the shit out of him, the thought that there might not _be_ anything after Nine. But more than that if he had to watched Hermann stand in front of another of those memories, their light playing off the pale hollows of his face while he looked so shadowed and frankly _haunted_ , Newt was going to lose his mind,  _again_. So he focused, imagined that of _course_ it was up there, just what they needed, and this moldering cave that he should probably wonder about being some representation of his inner consciousness was actually a Room of Requirements, because just out of sight would be waiting…

“Did we… get turned around somewhere?” Hermann said. Stretched between the walls of the cavern was Newt’s extremely awesome rainbow hammock. The memory of it was courtesy of his trip to Cabo after Kaiceph in 2014, and the endless haunting miles of empty beach and abandoned resorts in the wake of the Kaiju’s attack. That hammock had been the perfect place to hang out and go over his data after being basically exiled him from his team for some—he’d like to think he’d matured enough in the last two decades to admit it now—total dumbass comments about the sheer awesomeness of the Kaiju. He still remembered the heat of the sun beating down on him, and in the distance the decaying bones of a monster that had blotted out the sky, stark against the nuclear wasteland of the city sacrificed to destroy it.

“Ok, before you say anything, hear me out,” Newt said. He rounded Hermann to stand in front of him, placing his hands on his shoulders and looking into his eyes. “I think we should take a break.”

A stubborn frown tightened Hermann’s lips, because of _course_. “Only one Circle remains, Newton. It would be foolish of us to put it off for the sake of mere discomfort.” He moved to break free of Newt’s grip and pass him but Newt moved with him.

“ _Or,_ ” Newt corrected him, “it could be even more _foolish_ to push ourselves. We could trip over the finish line and run out of time because we’re exhausted, and I get trapped again, which is no picnic for me either.” How much time did the last Circle even take? It had covered at least twenty-four hours of time, and before that they had spent at least a couple hours in the Seventh. But this was dream time, for all he knew it all could have taken seconds in the real world, and the fact he had no way of _testing_ any of this was enough to drive him bonkers if he let himself dwell on it. “This is Nine: Treachery, the pool of ice, the Big Fella himself. _Satan_. Not exactly the place I want to hang out overnight if you get yanked in the middle.”

Understanding dawned on Hermann’s face. “Of course. My apologies, Newton. It was insensitive of me not to consider that.” That haunted expression returned, sick and dazed, and _fuck_ , they couldn’t be having that.

“No, nonono, hey,” Newt said, and squeezed Hermann’s shoulder to draw back his attention. “That wasn’t the takeaway, and you should know better. For one thing, I’m actually ok with insensitive. _Fuck_ feelings, we need everything out on the table right now. Which is why I’m just gonna come out and say it: you look like complete shit, and I don’t wanna go in to what might be the most difficult obstacle to us getting out of here with you gassed out on reliving the _worst_ night of your life.”

“Reliving the worst night of _my_ …?” A strange look passed over Hermann’s face.

“Ok, _maybe_ one of the top three, which I realize isn’t saying much about the overall state of our lives,” Newt said. “But I saw everything those bastards did to you in there and it was not cool, man. I mean, I’ve seen all this before. This is old news for me, you’re the one seeing how shitty it was for the first time. And that? That was low. That was some below the belt shit, and it makes me fucking furious. You’ve been taking care of me this _whole_ time, and I appreciate it, I do, and I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making it up to you but please, _please_ just let me take care of you this time. Let’s just take five, chill for a bit, enjoy the scenery, maybe take a fucking nap because even if I can’t sleep here you deserve a break. Please? If you won’t do it for yourself then do it for me because the thought of us hitting up Nine like this, maybe _failing_ because of it, scares the hell out of me.”

“If we push forward, we could have you free by this evening,” Hermann said, but his tone was faint and uncertain, and he shook his head. “Do you have any idea what it is like to see you in that bed, Newton? Day in and out, I can’t bear it. If there’s even a chance we can get you out sooner…”

“It’s just one more day,” Newt insisted. Still, the thought of their positions reversed flitted across his mind, with Hermann pale and unmoving in a bed for, god, for _years_ made his stomach twist. He couldn’t help himself, and Hermann made no protest as Newt pulled him close, and wrapped his arms around Hermann’s skinny frame, burying his face in his shoulder so his words were muffled. “It’ll be great, you’ll see. You’ll come back tomorrow all refreshed with a full night’s sleep and a good breakfast and _bam_ , in and out. We’ll have the whole day to solve it, no interruptions. Whaddya say?”

Hermann had been holding himself so _stiff_ , but the moment Newt’s arms locked around him, he slumped, and wrapped his arm around Newt’s waist in return, shivering a little before melting against him. His cheek pressed against Newt’s hair as he whispered, “Fine. Perhaps you’re right, and a short rest would be… appropriate.”

Newt sighed with relief, and bit back his knee-jerk instinct to remind Hermann he was _usually_ right, since that would just be leaving him open to some pretty obvious and earned rebuttals on the couple times he had been _spectacularly_ wrong. He loosed his grip around Hermann’s waist and offered an arm to guide him to the hammock. Hermann moved like a sleepwalker, and hesitated when they reached it, eying it suspiciously. The thing was, admittedly, a death trap, and Newt frowned in shared consternation at how to get both of them into the thing without getting dumped over the side or spun around until they were trapped a hammock burrito like a couple of cartoon characters.

With a shrug of defeat, _fortune favors the brave, dude,_ Newt released Hermann’s arm and scrambled into it, the hammock rocking like a boat that was about to tip and nearly spilling him over the side before he shimmied onto his back and gripped the sides for dear life until it stilled. He looked back at Hermann, and spread his arms in invitation. “Come on, I’ll catch you.”

“This seems terribly unwise,” Hermann said, and leaned his cane against the cavern wall before gingerly gripping the edge of the fabric. Yeah, that was definitely not going to work, and mindscape or not, decades of chronic pain weren't so easy to shrug off as imaginary. Operating, as he often did, under the philosophy that it was better to ask forgiveness than permission, Newt wrapped his arm Hermann’s waist and dragged him into the hammock.

Hermann gave a squawk and the breath _oof_ ed out of Newt’s chest as his weight fell on top of him. The hammock swayed threateningly and they both froze, Newt’s arms tightening around Hermann’s waist until it went still. When it did, Newt flashed Hermann a triumphant grin.

“See, isn’t this way better already? You should listen to my plans more often.”

“If I concede this one point, will you lord it over me for the next decade?” Hermann said. He settled his head against Newt’s shoulder, the grown-out fringe of his ridiculous hair tickling Newt’s throat as he gave a sigh and snuggled close.

Newt’s damn heart melted. “Oh, for sure. Once we’re out of here, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

“…Sounds like an excellent plan. I will hold you to that,” Hermann murmured. He went quiet against Newt’s chest, eyes closed as if listening to Newt’s heartbeat. His breathing slowed, and his body was warm against Newt’s chest so that he thought Hermann must have fallen asleep when he suddenly said, “Do you not want to be free of this place, Newton?”

“What? No!” Newt said, and craned his neck to look down at Hermann in surprise. “That would be crazy, right? Of course I want to get out of here. I can _taste_ how bad I want out of this weird, pseudo-religious puzzle box torture chamber. But…” It _was_ more than just looking out for Hermann, and he knew that in the small, selfish corner of his soul that probably wasn’t actually that small. He had been _relieved_ when Hermann agreed to the break, more relieved than he was at the prospect of getting out of here. “Ok, I said everything on the table, and that means _everything_ , right? It’s only fair. So I gotta come clean: I didn’t just want a break because you look terrible. I mean, you do look terrible, and I don’t want to risk going in there with you at less than 110%. And I _know_ it’s stupid to test the PPDC’s patience on the number of sessions you’re getting, because you probably have to beg, borrow, and steal every minute they give you, and then steal a bunch of garbage to Drift with if they just arbitrarily decide to shut you down anyway. I know, I’ve been there. I know we’re on the clock too. But this is the last Circle, if we fuck this up…” Newt choked on the words, and continued in a rush, “or even if we don’t, we might come out on the other side and find out there never _was_ a way out of here, and all of this was just a stupid puzzle I made up to keep my brain stimulated, all with a side of masochism I should probably get checked out. 

“And even if I _do_ get out, what’s waiting for me out there? Do people still blame me for what the Precursors did? I’ve been in a coma. I’ve had _aliens_ in my head! What if I’m permanently brain damaged? What if I don’t remember any of what happened in here, what if I don’t remember _you,_ or what if I was right the first time and none of this is real and it _is_ wish fulfillment and I’m waking up on my own because you’re just an imaginary spirit guide and you barely know me anymore because you moved on years ago and I’m just _alone_ out there. What if…”

“ _Shhh,_ Newton,” Herman said, stopping Newt’s tirade. It wasn’t the order that did it, it was how _exhausted_ Hermann sounded. “You’re right.”

“Wait, that’s not what you were supposed say.”

“You are wrong about me being a hallucination, as you have been from the start,” Hermann said, the eye-roll audible in his words. “But there’s nothing further I can do while we are in here to convince you of that fact, or of anything else about the outside world if you truly believe it. You are right that this may not be the end, that there may be further trials, that we might have misunderstood all of this, that there may be nothing waiting for us at the end but another puzzle, and another, and another. Nevertheless…”

“Whoa, hold on, that’s _way_ worse than what I said!”

“… we have no choice but to try.”

Newt went still, then tilted his head to try to catch a glimpse of Hermann’s face. He stared into the distance, his dark eyes blank, with no light, no emotion at all except resignation.

“How do you even function like that?” Newt said. “Don’t you need some kind of certainty, or, I don’t know, some kind of _hope?_ How do you even get up in the morning with that attitude?”

“Because I had to,” Hermann said. He closed his eyes, and burrowed his face against Newt’s chest. His arms tightened around him. “Every day for the last two years, I had to.”

“… Are you ok, bud?” Newt said. Hermann was quiet for a long time.

“You shouldn’t worry, Newton. I will spend the rest of my life getting you out of here if necessary. Try to rest, the last two Circles were not easy on you either.”

Newt grimaced, but he knew a Gottliebien conversation closer if there ever was one, when there was no point in pushing the guy further. “Yeah, never mind getting robbed of the post-coital glow. I’m still pissed at my subconscious for that one,” he joked, and relaxed at the huff of amusement from Hermann.

Hermann lapsed again into silence, and Newt’s heart couldn’t help but swell as he held the warm weight of Hermann against him, just _held_ him there, even if it was admittedly a creepy cave in what was literally the darkness of his own subconscious, and ok never mind, it was way _too_ quiet, he was never going to be able to relax just sitting here being quiet. It made him anxious and jittery, and…

“Hey, do you mind if I turn on some music?” Newt said.

“If you must,” Hermann murmured without opening his eyes.

Newt craned his arm over the side of the hammock to find the table that was definitely there, and the cell phone that was definitely on top of it. He remembered Cabo, and the endless lonely stretches of beach.

Soft ukulele music began to play.

“Really?” Hermann said. A smile quirked at the edge of his lips. “I never would have guessed.”

“Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone. It would ruin my rep,” Newt said, as the crooned lyrics filtered down, sappy but true, because in at least this one thing he was a sap and not afraid to admit it. _Shall I stay, would it be a sin, if I can’t help falling…_ “Hey.”

“What is it, Newton?” Hermann murmured, half asleep.

“I do, you know. Love you. I just wanted to say it once without getting interrupted.”

“I know,” Hermann whispered, and something in his tone kept Newt from rolling his eyes, or giving him a light shove because he was trying to be romantic, did Hermann _have_ to push back on every single point? Because this felt different. This felt… deeper, like it meant something that Hermann was just realizing himself. “I love you as well.”

Newt said nothing to this, just let the words settle inside him and he sighed, pulling Hermann close. For good measure he pressed a kiss to his hair. The music rose and fell hypnotically as if coming from far away, as if they really were on a beach somewhere with the sun setting over the waves. One perfect moment to take into the dark.

It might have been minutes and it might have been hours later when Newt felt the weight ease on his chest, and looked down to catch one last glimpse of Hermann curled against him, before he faded away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you guys enjoyed this somewhat calmer chapter. Please consider leaving a comment if you have a moment, it means so much to me to know what you think of the story as it goes!


	12. Treachery - Hermann

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader, do not ask how chilled and hoarse I became, then, since I do not write it, since all words would fail to tell it. I did not die, yet I was not alive. Think, yourself, now, if you have any grain of imagination, what I became, deprived of either state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Hell or High Water, by Passenger, a latecomer to my writing music queue but it fits surprisingly well.

When Hermann awoke, Jake Pentecost was standing across from him, leaning against the wall. Hermann blinked sleepily, and started as a blanket fell from his shoulders to pool in his lap.

“Marshal…” Hermann said, and jolted the rest of the way awake, the sense of peace from the memory of lying curled against Newt in the Drift fleeing with it. His limbs ached from sitting still, but the stern set of Pentecost’s jaw made mentioning this fact seem an unwise course of action at present. 

“Dr. Gottlieb,” Pentecost said crisply, and straightened from his spot on the wall. Within two steps he was in front of Hermann, and crossed his arms. “Falling asleep in a Pons? You know that’s nearly impossible without experiencing extreme levels of fatigue, yeah?”

“Dr. Geiszler and I agreed to a break,” Hermann protested, and mustered some of the old anger to lend fire to his retort, “Circles Seven and Eight were severe trials. We decided to run out the clock rather than risk the Ninth with little sense of when I would be dragged out of there, _against my will_ , I might add.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “You still don’t _get it,_ do you?” 

“I understand perfectly well that the PPDC is against my attempts to resuscitate Dr. Geiszler, and will leap at the chance to discontinue my work given the slightest provocation,” Hermann snapped.

“No, you don’t! Because it isn’t _true_. None of us are out to get you, Dr. Gottlieb, we’re taking these measures to protect you so we don’t lose you too!”

“I do not need protection from the only thing in this world that matters to me any longer!” Hermann’s voice cracked, a humiliation, but he pressed on. “I built your bomb, Pentecost. I won your war and made you a hero. All I ask in return is that you allow me the dignity of my choice!”

“What do you think I’ve been _doing_ , Gottlieb? I knew you were lying when you reported your fatigue levels. I’ve known since the beginning. It’s why I always talk to you before you go to your official debrief, so you can tell me _in confidence_ if you’ve got any concerns. I _knew_ you would lie, and I knew it _before_ I approved of your request to Drift with Geiszler, because _I would do the same_ for my Drift partner! And for that matter, you didn’t need to file that damn injunction to get permission to help him, you could have just _asked_ us.”

Hermann swallowed, and realized he was pressed back into the chair, as if fleeing Pentecost’s tirade. He smoothed his expression, and did his best to keep the hitch from his voice as he said, “I could not take that chance.”

Jake snarled in frustration. “You know, for a genius you can be really fuckin’ stupid sometimes. The PPDC is your family, Gottlieb. Dr. Geiszler is part of that family too. You don’t need to run or hide from us. You don’t need to do all of this on your own. God knows it’s been a rough couple of years, but we’re _all_ worried about you. You saved the world with us _three times_ , and now you’re trying to save Geiszler too. You’re ignoring your health, and you’re throwing yourself into another dangerous mission. I’m starting to think we’ve all been blind to the fact you’re not really fighting the good fight here, and maybe you never have been.Maybe you’re in free fall, and that’s been true for years, and you’re so damn _smart_ you can cover that up by trying to save everyone but yourself!”

“Are you quite finished, Marshal?” Hermann said, as coldly as he could muster. His heart was pounding, and he suspected ache of rage and hurt in his chest must show on his face, but there was nothing for it. “If there was anyone else who could help Dr. Geiszler, I would be happy to hand him over to their care and take your recommended _rest_. But you are reading patterns into what was simple necessity. I do not need your sympathy, or your emotional support. I only need one more session, and all I ask is that you _stay out of my way_. If that is beyond you, I hope you can appreciate that I’m just so damn _smart_ that I will figure out a way to go around you, one that is likely a great deal more dangerous for everyone involved. Now, if you’re done with your posturing and your _amateur_ psychoanalysis, I have a debrief with a real professional to attend and a bed of my own I’d dearly like to see.”

It was impossible to wait for Jake to leave, and Hermann ignored his offered hand as he struggled to his feet, jaw aching for the force of clenching it so none of the pain showed on his face. His hand shivered on his cane with the effort of keeping himself upright without stumbling or glancing at Newt. But once on his feet, he leveled a stern, and he hoped, steady gaze at Jake, daring him to comment.

Jake shook his head ruefully, and opened the door him. Hermann nodded curtly in thanks, but was hardly surprised when Jake called after him. “What happened, Dr. Gottlieb? When did we become strangers to you?”

“Shouldn’t it be obvious, Marshal?” Hermann replied. He knew he shouldn’t, knew he should instead keep walking, but Pentecost’s words had jostled something free in his chest: words that ran through him like a fault line. To look back as he spoke would be to give in to that shard of weakness. He would crumble. “When you dragged us all into a war you couldn’t possibly win, so I had to.”

“… Then I’m sorry you see it that way, but I’m not sorry it happened. You saved a lot of lives, Gottlieb,” Pentecost said. “You’ll get your session with Geiszler tomorrow. You’ll get as many as you need, usual time, usual length. But I hope tomorrow really is the last one, for your sake.”

“It will be,” Hermann said, and continued walking, his cane rapping a staccato counterpoint to his every pained step.

_It must be._

 

* * *

 

“I no longer believe these are Dr. Geiszler’s worst memories from his captivity,” Hermann said. He sat hunched over on Dr. Lang’s couch, hands cupping the top of his cane, leaning it back to press his fingers to his lips as he thought.

“You seem very certain of that,” Lang said, her voice carrying the familiar, comforting lilt of London. “Catharsis in the form of re-writing the most traumatic experiences was our best theory on the _why_ behind Dr. Geiszler’s particular choice of memories, subconscious or not.”

“And perhaps that remains an element, but I no longer believe that is the only explanation at work here,” Hermann’s brow furrowed as he thought. _Gassed out from reliving the_ worst _night of your life._ “No, there’s more to it, some element we’re missing but I cannot _see_ what it could be. Perhaps guilt?” 

“And what leads you to believe that?” Lang said cautiously, her expression unreadable.

“It would be natural to have a misplaced sense of guilt over the Precursor’s actions given his circumstances, would it not?” Hermann said. “These memories must share some common thread. Perhaps they are instances where he could have reasonably expected rescue as a way of preventing their plans, had anyone thought to notice the incongruities.”

“Without working directly with Geiszler, I’m afraid I only have your reports to go off of, Dr. Gottlieb, with all their strengths and weaknesses of observation,” said Lang.

Hermann frowned in annoyance. “I would appreciate your insight on this matter if you have any to give. Otherwise, perhaps it’s best if we turn our attention to Dr. Geiszler’s treatment once he is freed. Many of the events I’ve witnessed were deeply traumatic, and he will require our support.”

“And it’s admirable of you to make preparations for him, but for now perhaps it would be best if we focus on _your_ safety in the Drift.”

Hermann’s jaw tightened. “Did Pentecost put you up to this? I assure you, as I have assured everyone in this Shatterdome _ad nauseum_ , that I have no need for such coddling. Dr. Geiszler is the matter at hand. Determining the central rationale for what steps are needed to free him is our first priority.”

“The Marshal did not put me up to anything. Your sessions are entirely confidential and are indeed classified, and that includes from the Marshal,” Lang said matter-of-factly. It was for the best, and a testament to her professionalism. Had she attempted to soothe him, he would have ended the session there. “His sole inquiries were into how he can facilitate your safety in the Drift. I have not and would never share any details of your care.”

“Of Dr. Geiszler’s care,” Hermann corrected.

“Indeed, that is an aspect. But we’re here to monitor whether you are pursuing a ghost Drift into unsafe territory, so while your Drift partner’s mental state is a factor, yours is of equal importance.”

“The EEG has picked up activity, confirming it is not a ghost Drift,” Hermann countered. “Therefore the best way to ensure the safety of all parties is to free Dr. Geiszler as quickly as possible. With that in mind, shall we focus?”

Dr. Lang settled back in her seat, lips drawing thin. “If you wish, but then I must confess I’m not convinced of your theory on Dr. Geiszler’s priority being _rescue_. Many of the data points you reported to me of the memories do _not_ constitute cries for help, indeed quite the contrary. Dr. Geiszler seemed to have resigned himself to not expecting rescue, and to have taken matters into his own hands by resorting to self-destructive means, only to be repeatedly thwarted even in those. It is possible, rather, that he reached a state of learned helplessness, not expecting help from others, not believing himself capable of helping himself.”

Hermann leaned forward eagerly, “So, perhaps forgiving himself for past failed escape attempts and proving to himself that he is capable of freedom are what is needed for the final stage?”

“Without working with Dr. Geiszler…” Lang sighed. “I only have what you report, Dr. Gottlieb, but yes, it seems a fair possibility.”

Hermann rose to his feet, lifted by the feeling of lightness and, dare he even think it, hope that drove the irritation and weariness from his mind. “Thank you, doctor. That is all I needed.”

He was halfway to the door before Lang called after him. “Dr. Gottlieb, once the matter of Dr. Geiszler is resolved…”

“Tomorrow,” Hermann said, turning back to her. His fingers tapped on the tip of his cane impatiently.

“Tomorrow,” Lang agreed. “I hope that we will continue to see one another.”

The corner of Hermann’s lip turned upward. “Missing our sessions already? I know I’ve been something of a bear lately, but your help has been invaluable, Dr. Lang. I would indeed like to extend my full apologies, and thanks for your help at the earliest opportunity. Perhaps dinner once Dr. Geiszler is able? If that would be appropriate for a patient under your care.”

“You misunderstand me,” Lang said pointedly. “I meant that I hope we will continue _our_ sessions.”

Hermann stopped, his hand on the doorknob, partly twisted. “I’m afraid that will be impossible. Dr. Geiszler’s care will be consuming the majority of my time for the foreseeable future.”

“Dr. Gottlieb…”

“Good evening, Dr. Lang,” Hermann said curtly. “You will forgive my rudeness, but I have a great deal to prepare before tomorrow.”

He shut the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

It was nearly eleven at night when Hermann flipped on the light switch in his flat. Newt’s Kaiju figurines greeted him, as they had for the past two years, though the flat was not nearly so tidy as it appeared in the vision. 

With a sigh, Hermann set about to cleaning. There were stray clothes discarded on the floor in his daily rush to Newt’s side, and he deposited those in the hamper. Then he crossed to the kitchen to wipe down counters stained by tea spilled from shaking hands. In the morning he’d have to remember to make the bed, though he doubted Newt would very much mind any mess, but Hermann at least wanted to be sure the flat was not an embarrassment.

For good measure, he set out his clothes for the morning: a simple button-down shirt and slacks. Then he began to assemble an overnight bag of clothes and effects for Newt: the band shirt he had selected in the Drift, a pair of sweatpants that were likely too long but would at least be comfortable, and his spare glasses with the lenses carefully popped out and set aside. Hermann added a few other odds and ends to the bag: scientific publications from Newt’s various fields, painstakingly collected over the last two years whenever an article caught Hermann’s eye as something Newt might fancy, and a data pad preloaded with films and music. It would be a simple matter to add more, but this should at least tide him over for the short term.

By the time Hermann changed into pajamas and slipped into bed, his leg was throbbing. Outside, the waves crashed against the cliffside walls of the Shatterdome, and the moon was just visible, a waning sliver, at the corner of the tall windows. The bed felt too large, obscene for one person to lie in alone. But what did it matter? Once Newt was awake, they would share it again.

Hermann stared at the ceiling, willing his thoughts to still. They whirled over the debrief, over his plans for the morning, how they would put into practice the theory that this final Circle was in fact the final proof Newt needed that he could be rescued, that he could be freed of his mind, and the nightmare was behind them. He _would_ wake up tomorrow, Hermann knew that with the kind of rock-solid clarity that allowed one to walk on air, so long as one did not look down. 

And by now he was very good at not looking down until the war was won.

 

* * *

 

The hammock was gone when Hermann returned to the Drift. He did not have to go far to find Newt, just down the corridor in the final chamber. If there was a pathway out, it was obscured by the pulsing globe suspended on the far side of the room. The surface of the memory flickered with neon light, familiar shades of blue and magenta that made Hermann’s stomach clench. 

Newt sat cross-legged on the ground in front of the flickering light, fist pressed to his mouth as he studied it. “ _Número nueve_ ,” he mused as Hermann approached. “Treachery against authority _which_ , because Dante was kind of a bad Christian but a great authoritarian, means two guys who assassinated a Roman dictator get as much priority as the guy who betrayed his Messiah, and all three get to be munched on by Satan like chew toys for eternity. Had a big thing for obeying authority, our Dante.” Newt glanced up over his shoulder at Hermann. “I think we both know what’s in there. I’ve spent the last few hours trying to see if I could change it, but no dice. I can’t even tell if there’s a door out on the other side. If not—”

“There will be,” Hermann assured him, and offered his hand to help Newt up, which he accepted as he stood. “Before we enter, we should discuss what comes next.”

Newt nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too.”

“I’ve been speaking with a specialist…” Hermann began.

“Are you going to be ok if this doesn’t work?”

Hermann drew short. “I beg your pardon?”

“Like I said, I’ve been thinking since you left,” Newt said. “Actually, I’ve had a lot of time to think about what’s really important here, and I need to know before we go in: if for some reason this doesn’t work out, are you going to be ok?”

Hermann recoiled. “What an absurd question. It will work, Newton, and if it doesn’t, yours is the life I’m far more concerned with. We will simply have to find another way.”

“ _If_ we get the chance to, which is why I’m asking,” Newt said. He took Hermann’s hand, and looked deep into his eyes. There was no trace of his usual manic energy, and Hermann fought the urge to drag his hand free as he felt a sudden wave of unease at the sight. “We gave it our best shot, and there’s no shame in that. But I’ve been gone for ten years… _twelve_  at this point. I doubt anyone else even misses me. And I don’t want to die, believe me, I’ve never wanted to die and I _really_ don’t want to die now that we’re so close. But what I want even less is for you to leave here blaming yourself forever because you think you didn’t do enough.”

“ _Die_? What does dying have to do with anything, what are you _talking_ about?” Hermann said, and fear began to creep up the back of his throat as Newt squeezed his hand and his gaze didn’t waver.

“Exactly what I’m saying. You did everything, ok? There’s no way you could have done more. So if I don’t make it out of here, I want you to go get a life already. Find some other nerd at an astronomy conference and talk stars or whatever. Buy a cat. Bore some grad students to death, I dunno. Do whatever your geeky little heart desires and do it without guilt, or I will haunt you. I mean, I get it, I know I’m the greatest thing that ever happened to you, but…”

“Oh for God’s sake, is that what this is about?” Hermann scoffed. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation, now of all times.”

“When _else_ are we going to do it?” Newt snapped. “I need to know you’re going to be ok, and that you’re not going to self-destruct behind my back because for some reason you’ve decided that I’m all you’ve got going for you. You’re awesome, ok? A totally kick-ass, amazing, multi-time world saving rockstar scientist. But I know you’re also a nerd who forgets to eat or take care of himself when he gets fixated on dumb shit. Dumb shit like _saving me_. So I need you to swear to me that you’re going to be ok whatever happens in there, because this is not a sure thing and we are out of options.”

“Which is why if you’d just _listen_ to me, I could explain to you my plan!” Hermann exclaimed. “Clearly there is a pattern here, and it’s one that revolves around freeing you. I’ve been speaking with a specialist, Dr. Lang, she agrees that there’s a possibility these are all your opportunities for escape. If we can just get you through this last one successfully, then perhaps that’s all your subconscious needs to make it the rest of the way on its own.”

“And there you go again with your abstract theories,” Newt said softly, fondly even, and shook his head as he laughed under his breath. “That’s a good one, too. Shame that it’s wrong.”

Hermann bristled. “You have no better idea of that than I do. So _perhaps_ instead of being maudlin, or contrary for the sake of it, we should take the time to make a plan for what is in there.”

“Got any idea what that would be?”

“No, but perhaps if we…”

“I didn’t think so,” Newt said. He looked back up, and Hermann’s heart all but stopped as he saw the trace of sadness in the crinkle around his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it handled. I just needed to get all of that off my chest first.”

“Tell me what you’re planning,” Hermann insisted, and dragged Newt closer.

“Can’t do, man. If I tell you, it might not work. Just trust me on this, ok? No one wants to wake up from this more than I do.”

The fear that had built in the pit of Hermann’s stomach broke free, turning his veins to ice. He knew that tone of voice, scratchy and faded from a recording found far too late. _Then I also won, sort of…_ Newt wouldn’t meet his eye. He was staring down at the floor, his hand on Hermann’s arm and his thumb was moving back and forth. Inches away, the bubble pulsed and flickered.

“Newton, I swear, if you go in there…”

Lips crashed against Hermann’s, bending him back with the force and there were hands cupping his face,  the red of Newt’s tattoos were visible out of the corner of his eyes. Newt pressed in close, turning their bodies so his back was to the memory, its light outlining him in flickering neon.

Newt gasped as he broke away, and pressed his forehead to Hermann’s. “Whatever happens in there, just know I love you, ok? And that means I want you to be happy.”

Hermann wrenched out of Newt’s grip. “No! Newton, don’t you dare do anything rash!”

Newt’s lip quirked in a sad, lopsided grin, and he spread his hands. “Who, me?” he said, and stepped backwards into the memory.

 

* * *

 

_“What do we do, how do we stop it?”_

_The klaxon blared around them, the room of Shao’s central command dropped into deep blue as the emergency systems kicked in and the white-clad engineers fled. Across the burning map, Kaiju-infected drones laid waste to the Pacific coasts, and in Hermann’s head, Newt was going to fix it all._

(The memory closed around him like a vise the second he dove in after Newt, sealing Hermann’s lips, but not his eyes as he was dragged under, into a day two years past. The day the creatures in Newt's head had tried to destroy the world. The tenth year, the Ninth Circle. The only day this could have been. )

_“To what?”_

_“To the drone subroutine. I added a subroutine just in case I want to get in here and poke around,” Newt said._

_And Hermann had believed. He had wanted so badly to believe that he had ignored the presence of Kaiju DNA in the rogue Jaegers, and that the only man with advanced enough knowledge to create them was Newt. He wanted it badly enough he had tied his intellect into knots to justify Newt as the victim, and all others the masterminds of a dark conspiracy. He had shrugged off every smirk, every veiled insult by the cold and distant man before him and thought it his own fault, and never once looked deeper. Not until that day, when it was too late._

_“Oh, sneaky bastard,” Hermann had said with such naked, humiliating admiration. And Newt had laughed._

_“I know, right?” Newt said, and with the flick of a few buttons, the screen changed._

_[Initiating Breach Protocol]_

_And Hermann had known. He felt Newt’s hot breath in his ear in that hotel room in Shanghai, asking how Hermann would open a breach from this side, and there they were, sprouting red across the screen like diseased boils._

_He had known. But still he had asked, “What… did you just do?”_

_Because even with the proof staring him in the face, he could not bring himself to believe. The intelligence in which he had taken such pride, had lorded over so many others, bent to the purpose of his own self deception._

_“What I’ve been planning the last ten years,” Newt said, and turned back. Ten years. Ten years since the abandonment, the strange behavior, since leaving Hermann’s side and for what, for_ what _? But Hermann had known even before he spoke the words, because there was nothing else that so many breaches could accomplish. All he choked on was understanding_ why _, and what did that matter anymore when he only asked now? “I’m ending the world.”_

_The screen dissolved into braided chains of DNA, the map of the world turning to dust in its wake. It was only the two of them, one with all the knowledge, the other with nothing but the weight of all his ignorance and mistakes._

_“Why would you do this?”_

_Hermann had been struck by the sheer incongruity. The man he had known and loved, whose thoughts he had experienced as intimately as his own, had never been a nihilist. His love of life, his love of the_ world _, had been boundless, and Newt had put himself on the line to save it as truly as any Jaeger pilot. But even the expensive suits, the cold distance, the transformation into a swanning private sector horror had not been the acts of a man who wished to take the world down with him._ _He remembered Newt standing at the edge of the Shatterdome wall, tears in his eyes as he choked out that he wanted to leave Alice, but even that did not ring true as a desire to destroy others as well._

_“Why would I do this? Hmm,” Newt said. He stripped off his jacket, and began to roll back the sleeves of his dress shirt, the lurid Kaiju tattoos blending against his skin in the multihued light. “Well, I guess I wouldn’t. Not normally, not really my style. I don’t know, maybe I hate you all for treating me like an insignificant little joke of a man. Maybe that’s why he did it, Hermann—I did it. Ah. See? There ya go. There’s the problem.” He rounded on Hermann. Blood dripped from his left nostril, a product from the fight in the elevator, as Hermann had first dismissed it, when in truth he was laying eyes on the universal sign of a faulty Drift. “I’m just not totally feeling myself these days.”_

_Hermann often wished another moment had been the lowest, when the drones attacked, or the new Kaijus had emerged from the breaches, or even when the war began anew with the announcements of the invasion. But this had been it: the few seconds of total incomprehension, when there was no enemy to fight except Newton._

_And in a small, secret and shameful part of him, he had been relieved, so relieved he might have wept though that was certainly not what the Precursors had intended when they gloated. They had thought to break him with the revelation of what they had stolen._

_They had not realized that by revealing Newt was stolen, they had given him back._

_“You…Precursors,” Hermann breathed. Taunting him, fully believing they had won and feeling no compunction at all against revealing it to him, their second most hated member of humanity. His world had shattered, but that was the thing about his world shattering: it had finally let in the light._

_Newt turned from him, and his shoulders began to shake._

_“Very good, Hermann, you figured it out. And as usual, a step behind.”_

_“Newton, you are a good man,” Hermann said. Shock had turned his body cold, and he spoke out of frozen lips but somewhere deep beneath the layers of horror like the ice that engulfed Satan in the lowest pit, there had been a flicker of hope._

_“N-no, Hermann…”_

_“You must stop—!”_

_“There’s no point.”_

_“You must fight back.”_

_“I am not strong enough, Hermann.”_

_“Please!”_

_“I’m not strong enough!”_ _A hand seized Hermann’s throat, closing his windpipe and lifting him from the ground. Impossible for a man of Newton’s size, but his feet left the floor and animal terror flooded him as he slammed against the console._

_“He is not strong enough! None of you are strong enough!” an alien voice roared from Newt’s throat._

_Hermann couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. The lowest brain’s instinct to fight for his life kicked in, and he seized at Newt’s hand, tugging and scratching at it._

_Until he saw the tears in Newt’s eyes._

_The hand around his throat spasmed, as if fighting a war to pull back and push forward at once. The struggle he had seen as Newt swayed on the edge of the Shatterdome wall. A battle fought for control of his body, and Newt a prisoner in what should have been his last place of refuge._

_The horror of it flooded Hermann, and tears pricked his eyes that weren’t from the pain._ It’s alright, _he wanted to whisper though he could not form the words._ It’s alright, I see now, _he wanted to say,_ I’m sorry I was too late _._

 _He could not speak but he could show it, and he comforted Newt as best he could, his thumb moving back and forth, back and forth across his knuckles._ It’s alright.

_“I’m sorry, Hermann,” Newt sobbed. “They’re in my head.”_

_Hermann held Newt’s hand, his vision blackening around the edges as the grip did not cease and Newt wept above him and it was all happening again. He would have to watch it all happen again. All that waited was for Liwen to shout her warning, and it would all happen again when he had fallen, helpless and pathetic to the floor._

_The hand around his throat eased, and soon he’d be tossed to the side, and it was happening again—_

“Sorry about that, bud.” Hermann’s eyes popped open as Newt's fingers moved from his throat, up to to gently brush the tears from Hermann’s cheek. Then Newt bent down and pressed a kiss to Hermann’s sweat-slicked forehead. “I would have gotten out sooner if I could.”

“Newt,” Hermann whispered. His throat ached from the press of fingers against his esophagus. The bruises had taken a week to heal after, and he had woken every day of it to the intimacy of their reminder. “Did we do it?”

“Any second now, just relax,” Newt said, and pulled away. 

Hermann stumbled at the loss of the hand forcing him from the ground with that unnatural strength. He cast about for his cane, searching the floor for it as he scrambled to remain upright on shaky legs. 

Then he caught sight of it, in Newt’s hand. 

“Treachery against authority,” Newt murmured. He stole a glance back at Hermann. “Here goes nothing.”

But it was all wrong, Hermann realized as he struggled to reach the other side of the room. There, Newt and Liwen exchanged rapid-fire Mandarin, and her gun rose.

“No, stop! It wasn’t him!” Hermann cried, but he was too far away, and the cane wasn’t in his hand to bridge the distance. It dangled from Newt’s raised hand, and a knowing smirk playing across his lips, and the gun fired.

Newt dropped.

Hermann’s heart stopped. Time stopped. The world stopped, the distance stretching impossibly as he stumbled towards Newt, as he fell, as he dragged himself the remaining feet to his side. The phantasm of Liwen loomed above them, as the vision stalled but did not break.

A pool of blood spread across the floor beneath Newt, black in the dim lights.

“Newton!” Hermann exclaimed, his hands fluttering above Newt’s form, afraid to move him as his blood seeped onto the floor. Newt’s face was contorted in agony, his hands red-streaked, pressing to the entry wound on his hip, opposite the scar on his shoulder from where Hannibal Chau’s thug shot him, and this was all _wrong_ they were scientists, Newt wasn't supposed to get _shot_ at! “The vision isn’t breaking! What in God’s name were you thinking?”

“Treachery against authority, man, and you don’t get much more of an authority than Liwen _fucking_ Shao.” Newt coughed, a horrible wracking sound that shook his body. His eyelids fluttered and his expression twisted, his heels scrabbling on the floor as he tried to pull in on himself around the wound. “Had to— _ah!_ —had to s-stop this somehow.”

“But why didn’t you _tell_ me?” Hermann cried. “We could have found another solution than this idiocy!”

“Couldn’t risk you letting me get away again.” Newt wheezed. “That’s what the visions have all been about, right? Stopping the Precursors before they could hurt anyone. It’s always been there, right in front of my f-face.”

“The Precursors are _dead_ , Newton,” Hermann said. “We’re traveling through your memories, not through time, and stopping them sooner will not change that! This was never about stopping them, it’s about whether you could have been rescued sooner, but that was not your fault! None of this was _your_ fault, you must stop clinging to this guilt!”

Newt’s breathing came in short, sharp gasps and his eyes were hazy with pain but they sharpened at Hermann’s words, and he grimaced. “But I’m…not?”

“What? Newton, don’t be absurd… Newton, stop it!” Hermann said as Newt pressed one hand to the wound, and with the other propped himself up on an elbow to look at Hermann. His face had gone white with shock, but his brow furrowed.

“I-I don’t feel _guilt_ for not getting rescued sooner. Maybe that makes me a complete bastard, but I don’t feel g-guilty for what They did. I know it’s not my fault, I know I didn’t…” He winced, his eyes fluttered shut, and when his voice emerged it was in a pained whisper. “They _hurt_ me, Herms. They hurt me, and patched me up, and got me so high on Alice and pain and pleasure and _Them_ that I’d stop fighting. It was _conditioning_ , dude. They cut me off from everyone that I loved and then They _used_ me. I don’t want to stop Them out of _guilt_ , just like I didn’t want to close the Breach out of _guilt_. I want to stop Them because they _hurt_ people, because They hurt _y_ —” Newt gave a thin cry of pain, and clenched both hands to the wound, panting.

“Newton, stop it! You’re exhausting yourself. You need to lie still while we think of a plan,” Hermann babbled, and could not help himself but to reach out to touch Newt, to offer _some_ comfort, but a hand closed around his wrist, Newt’s, slippery with his own blood.

“Herms…” Newt whispered, frowning. His lips barely moved as he spoke but his gaze was fixed on Hermann, studying him like one of his samples, on the verge of some revelation. “Do _you_ feel guilty for not rescuing me sooner?”

“Of _course_ I do!” Hermann exploded. _God_ , the blood was spreading from Newt’s hip. He wracked his brain, scrabbling through the remnants of their lost ghost Drift. One of Newt’s PhD’s had been in medicine, had it not? _Might as well, after biology, dude_ , an echo whispered, an ancient memory and Hermann acted on another mind’s instincts: pressure, elevation. All the while he babbled. “Good God, man, every one of these memories has been a mark of my failure! From that first year, when I hung in uncertainty, too stung by perceived rejection over a few unanswered emails to reach out, and every day you suffered for it! And the second, when I resented Alice to such jealous excess that I would not even visit you in your new home because of how much I _hated_ the very idea of her stealing your affections!”

Hermann’s vision wavered as he pressed down on the wound, hot tears gathering and falling each time he blinked, and shame flooded him with the agony of realization. “I gorged myself on self-pity at your loss, too blinded to see even when you were sitting right behind me, trapped. I basked in the reflective glow of the wealth and status you had acquired, and couldn’t bear the thought of damaging it with the truth.” His voice cracked and the tears streamed freely, obscuring his vision but it didn’t matter, because he could see it all so clearly, all that he had hidden from himself. “And I was so _furious_ when those creatures told me Alice would fetch you from the hospital that I left you alone there, in pain. I sold out the ideals of the PPDC to prop up their creations in the hopes of seeing you again, and I _knew_ that you were planning to hurt yourself that day on the roof, Newton. I _knew_ , and yet I felt _relief_ that you were so miserable in your life without me that you were driven to that point, if it meant even a chance I would get you back. And every moment the Precursors sought to defraud me of my knowledge, I was defrauding myself by refusing to see it wasn’t really you.”

Hermann couldn’t lift his hand to cover his face this time to hide the shame of his tears. Newt’s blood was hot against his skin, and he couldn’t release the pressure no more than he could stop the final torrent of understanding, his throat so tight he could barely breathe. “All of these have been _my_ crimes, but this was the greatest. You never betrayed Liwen, how could you? You had no loyalty to her. But I committed treachery against every authority, Newton. Against the PPDC, against the _world_ when I did not allow myself to see the only possible source of those attacks, but worst of all,” he coughed as a sob tore through him, “against you. When I did nothing to save you, when _I_ did not do enough to stop them!”

He started at ice cold fingers touching his cheek, the sensation shocking against the heat of his face from the tears. 

“Herms, come on, none of that’s true. It’s not your fault,” Newt slurred. “Don’t fall apart on me now. You gotta… guide us outta here.”

“But I’m not the guide,” Hermann groaned. “I never was. How could I not have seen? _You_ are a part of this place, but I am the mortal in a strange land forced to look upon his sins. Oh God, what if I was the author of this puzzle all along? What if forced you to relive these memories, these horrors for my own sake? What if…”

“You’re killin’ me here, Herms,” Newt wheezed. The corner of his lip twitched. “That was terrible, m’sorry. Not the last thing I wanna say to you.”

Terror jolted through Hermann, dragging him from the downward spiral of his thoughts. “What? No, Newton! Can't you understand what I’m saying? We have to get you out of this memory I’ve trapped you in. It isn’t real, remember? You never tired of telling me it isn’t _real_ , and you were right. It’s only a puzzle, my own self flagellation!”

“I dunno, man, right now it feels pretty real,” Newt whispered. He closed his eyes, and forced them open again, where they remained half-lidded. “I think… you gotta solve this one.”

“But I can’t! I don’t know how. Don’t you see? I don’t know how to change any of this on my own.” Hermann’s heart was racing so fast he thought it might explode as his thoughts whirled. “Every Circle was leading to this, to this moment. I have thought of this day for two _years_ , and I don’t know. I don’t know what I could have done differently, because their plan was already in motion, because I missed every other chance before that! I didn’t know how to fix it then, and I don’t know now, because it was already too _late_.”

“It’s not—it’s not too late, Herms.” Newt’s hand shook on his and his thumb moved, back and forth over his knuckles. “You’ve got this. Just keep working on it, ok? I love you.”

“Don’t say that!”

“What, I love you?” Newt cracked open an eye, each word fainter than the last. “Deal with it, nerd. I love you, and I know you can… do this.”

“I can’t! Everything I’ve done since was because I couldn’t do _anything_ that day!” Hermann shouted. “Newt? Newton, don’t you dare! I need your help, you can’t— Newton!”

Newt slumped against the console. Passed out, that was all. It had to be. “Newt, wake up! You can’t sleep now, we’re not done!” Newt did not stir, and his breath emerged in a faint, rattling wheeze. “Newt!”

Hermann fell forward, flailing as his perch pressing down on Newt’s hip vanished and his hands hit the floor, shooting pain up his arm. He winced, and when he opened his eyes saw his arms passing translucent straight through Newt to the ground. “No! I still have hours more, Pentecost! Don’t you dare go back on your word, we still have time! You promised me more—”

 

* * *

 

“—time!” Hermann started forward in the Pons, eyes flying open to take in a scene of chaos.

Bodies clad in scrubs obscured the room. Above on the wall, the clock read barely past noon, he should have had hours left, but nurses swarmed Newt’s bed and Hermann heard the frantic beeping of machinery.

“They fell out of alignment, he’s going into cardiac arrest! Get the doctor, it’s an emergency!”

The babble of voices rose and Hermann stared, dazed at the flurry. Then slowly the realization dripped into his brain.

“Newton!” He struggled to his feet, wincing as each step sent agony shooting up his spine. “You have to let me see him, I can help! Put me back into the Drift!”

“Get Dr. Gottlieb out of here!” One of the nurses shouted, and a hand closed around his arm. Hermann looked up to see Pentecost, his expression grim.

“We’re just in the way now, doc.”

Hermann tried to wrench his arm back, but he might as well have been pulling on steel. “Pentecost, you broke our deal! You have to let me finish the Drift!”

“Too late for that,” Pentecost said, and nodded to the bed. “From what I can see, you’ve already done enough.”

Hermann’s wrenched around to stare at Newt, catching a glimpse of him pale and still against the piled pillows on the bed. “You don’t understand, none of that is real. He’ll be fine, I just need to break him out!”

Jake shook his head. “It’s not my call anymore. Come on.”

“No!” Hermann wrenched himself back, feet scraping at the floor, Pentecost’s hand unyielding on his arm. “Newton, wake up! You have to wake up!”

“Dr. Gottlieb, if you don’t come with me, these nurses are going to sedate you and then we’ll have to drag you out,” Jake said. “Come with me now and I promise, I’ll do everything I can to let you see Dr. Geiszler after the operation.”

Hermann gaped, his lips working, but when his voice emerged it was small, and breaking when he wanted to be furious. “Why won’t you _listen_ to me? He’s not dying, it’s only in his mind. It is part of the vision. I can break him out of it with more time. Don’t you see? He’s not… he can’t be dying.”

Jake sighed, and looked beyond him to Newt before looking back. “He can, and he is. Some kind of fault in the Drift. We should have considered it as a risk, but the Drift has no impact on people in deep comas. That you’ve gotten him to the point where it can even affect him is a credit to you. Now let the doctors do their work to get him the rest of the way.”

“… A bed, you promised me a bed next to his,” Hermann said as Jake began to guide him from the room, but the Marshal only shook his head.

“That was for the Drift. But I’ll ask the doctors if we can get you set up beside him as soon as it’s safe.”

Hermann swallowed, seeking words that wouldn’t come, and looked back over his shoulder just as the door closed behind them. He caught one last glimpse of white on white on white, the nurses in their uniforms, and Newt, pale and unmoving against the sheets, a single splash of red trickling from his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me, I hope you enjoyed! :D


	13. The Handwriting of God - Hermann

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried. Most people were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad Gita; Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty and, to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says, 'Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.’  
> \- J. Robert Oppenheimer, on the creation of the atomic bomb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: [Sound Waves](https://avelera.tumblr.com/post/176746704385/bae-science-o-shit-its-another-newmann-song) by Bae Science

Newt was still in surgery six hours later, and each minute of it was the longest of Hermann’s life. He felt cold all over as he stared down at his shoes, his fingers knotting and unknotting, and he jumped at every shadow that crossed his vision. Dread churned in his stomach that each would be the one who placed an unwelcome and too-gentle hand on his shoulder to tell him the inevitable. By the sixth hour he was wrung out, too exhausted to lift his head or even weep when a figure sat down beside him.

“Dr. Gottlieb.” He recognized the voice of Lang and slumped. Not her, no, she would not be the bearer of that news. “I just heard about Dr. Geiszler. I’m so terribly sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Hermann murmured, and closed his eyes to steady himself. “He will be fine. The man is a cockroach. He will outlive us all even when he has no business doing so.”

“…Of course. Well, he is a very lucky cockroach then, to have such a friend to help him. You did everything you could, Dr. Gottlieb. This was beyond your control.”

“Was it?” Hermann said dully. “Or did I become so fixated on a hypothesis that I ignored all the data that contradicted it? Perhaps I never truly aided him at all, and only forced him to relive the horrors in his mind for my own morbid curiosity, like some scavenger.”

“I'm sure that isn't true,” Lang said. “Just as I'm sure Dr. Geiszler would agree with me, and would not let anyone speak so cruelly of you, not even yourself. No doubt he would want you to rest, and take care of yourself while the doctors do their work. When was the last time you ate?”

“I do not require your assistance,” Hermann muttered. “I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”

“Of that I have no doubt. You are very self sufficient, doctor, perhaps to excess.” Hermann started at the criticism, and looked up at Lang as she rose to her feet. “I’ve come to consider you a friend over the course of our sessions, and it would put my mind at ease to know you’ve had something to eat while you wait. Will you let me fetch you something?”

Hermann’s lips parted, and he firmed them to hide tremor of weakness that shivered through him. The door to Newt’s hospital room remained closed, figures passing back and forth before the fogged glass window. “If it would comfort you. I doubt I will have much appetite.”

“Then you’ll have it for later. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

He did not retort that he had nowhere else to be. The staff had informed he could wait in his room if he chose, that they’d send for him once there was any change. He had declined.

When Lang returned it was with a thermos and a brown paper bag. She resumed her seat beside him and pulled out two wrapped sandwiches from the cantina with lettuce poking out from the edges. She passed one to him, as well as a bottle of water and the thermos.

“Tea,” she said simply.

He nodded, too tired to protest or refuse the universal language of English comfort. Lang unwrapped her sandwich and began to eat silently beside him, and after a moment he followed suit, if only to humor her.

Hermann chewed mechanically, taking sips of the water between bites and as he did some of the frantic, clawing panic began to ease into a distant sort of calm. The underlying terror still bit deep within him, but it narrowed to the sight of the door behind which Newt clung to life, and no longer darkened every corner and person with shadows and suspicion.

“I'm sorry I snapped earlier,” Hermann said as he passed a weary hand over his face.

“No apology is necessary. I understand,” Lang said. “We all do. Everyone is rooting for Dr. Geiszler to pull through.”

“He would want you to call him Newt,” Hermann murmured.

 

* * *

 

It was almost midnight when Jake Pentecost stepped into Hermann’s view. Lang had left some hours prior, offering a murmured apology about the need to meet with her other patients. His heart would have clenched at the sight of Pentecost’s solemn expression if he had any energy left to do more than wait for his world to end.

“Is this really your responsibility, Marshal?” Hermann said, and raised his eyes to the young man.

“I asked to be the one to tell you,” Jake said. “First things first: Geiszler is stable. That’s the good news.”

“And the bad news?” Hermann said quietly, stifling his relief before it could form. He could have said the next words before Pentecost did.

“He’s still in a coma. There’s some brain activity, but no more than there was a few days ago,” Pentecost said. “I’m sorry, Dr. Gottlieb.”

Hermann let his head drop forward. “And why, pray, did you feel the need to be the one to tell me this? A medical professional could have at least given me specifics.”

“Because you’re one of my men, as far as I’m concerned,” Jake said. “I’ve written hundreds of letters with worse news than this. This is one of the happier bits I’ve been able to share in the last two years. That probably isn’t much comfort to you, but he’s in there. He’s still with us.”

“Did it ever get easier, telling their families that you had bled your pilots’ lives out for nothing on the sands of another world, Marshal?” Hermann said. His insides twisted with anger, helplessness, seeking anything to lash out at, like a steel cable drawn so taut it snapped.

“Yeah, it did, actually. Do you want to hear it didn’t? Everything gets easier with practice,” Jake retorted. “The hard part was not letting it get easy. To sit down, and think about it, and not let a single one of them become a number. Otherwise you go numb, yeah? After that many losses, you start to block yourself off from everyone who loves you, and before long when it becomes too much, you break. And sometimes the people around you start to break too, and you don’t notice right away.”

“Is that meant to be pointed? If you have something to say to me, Marshal, say it clearly,” Hermann snapped.

“We set up a bed for you next to his,” Jake said. A thrill raced through Hermann and he could not stop himself from jolting, from letting the naked hope that filled his chest like light show on his face. “Life support means you can’t get too close just yet, but it’s safe if you want to hold his hand, maybe talk to him. The nurses said that might help draw him out, give him something to focus on.”

Hermann swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “And the Drift?”

Jake shook his head. “Not for at least a few days. There’s just enough spark there now that another Drift right away could blow it out. His body needs rest.”

Hermann wanted to protest. They had been so _close_. But the bed was already a concession he had not dared hope for, and his hand shook as he reached for his cane. When he moved to stand, Jake’s palm was extended before him.

“I’m sorry we didn’t see sooner that you were breaking,” Jake said. “I’m sorry I didn’t see what the war cost you. And I’m right there with everyone else hoping you get to take someone you love back from it all, now that it’s over. That’s something I’ve wished I could do every day.”

Hermann’s fingertips hovered, torn between accepting the offered hand or falling back to his cane.

Jake’s palm was dry and warm against his as he accepted it, and stood.

 

* * *

 

Newton looked small against the sheets, robbed of all the vitality he had possessed in the Drift.  Hermann took a tottering step toward him, unable to stop himself, the hand that wasn’t on his cane reaching out in a compulsive gesture, quickly stilled.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Jake said from the doorway. “And Dr. Gottlieb? We’ll talk another Drift in a few days, yeah? But first _both_ of you need to rest. So I’d thank you not to do anything rash like make a Pons out of garbage to Drift with Geiszler behind our backs. That’s a hypothetical, not a suggestion. I’m just saying because I’ve heard he can be a bad influence on you,” Pentecost said the last with a wink, and a nod towards the bed. “We’ll get him out soon.”

“You really believe it was him after all, then?” Hermann said, with a glance over his shoulder. It was a wrench to turn his gaze from Newt. It was a wrench to look at him lying there so still. The man had always had a way of bedeviling him.

“I don’t think you’d be fighting this hard if you weren’t pretty damn certain,” Jake said. “And I’ve learned to trust my lead scientist on the topic of Dr. Geiszler.”

“Thank you, Marshal,” Hermann murmured.

“Try to get some sleep, yeah? And if you make up a list I can send some people to your room for anything you need.”

Hermann nodded wearily, too sapped by the sight before him to even thank Pentecost for the thoughtfulness. It was all a peace offering anyway, each of them had racked up too many debts to the other during the war to keep score these days, and Hermann was tired of being at war, in every sense.

The door slid shut with a soft click behind him, and they were alone.

The second bed was sterile, and white, and sat on the far side of the room, with Newt’s closer to the door. There was a small gap between them, so that there was no risk of Hermann rolling over while he slept onto the tangle of wires and tubes that kept Newt alive. The blanket corners of his own bed were tucked with such military efficiency that Hermann had to yank them down to make room to crawl beneath them. He found a PPDC standard issue gray t-shirt and pair of sweatpants folded on the end table beside it and cared too little at this point to even sigh before stripping to put them on. At least they were more comfortable.

Exhaustion pressed against Hermann’s eyelids, but once settled under the sheets his hand immediately found Newt’s. There was no stirring from him as Hermann wrapped their fingers together, held them tight, and just tried to _breathe_.

Despite the wires and the cold of the slack hand in his, Hermann knew with utter certainty in that moment that he would not have been able to sleep in his own room. He did not know how he had managed in the past days and weeks, except by the promise of seeing Newt alive and awake within his own mind. With that gone, this was all he had.

“If this is your idea of a joke, Newton, I dearly wish you’d deliver the punchline,” Hermann said to the still figure beside him. “Which is to say that now would be an excellent time for you to wake up. But I know you would not be Newt Geiszler if you did not wait for the most dramatic and inconvenient time to do so, with a crash and a bang.”

Hermann held his breath. It was foolish, just as much so as a fairytale kiss. But then, Newt had always delighted in the perverse, from his Kaiju tattoos in a world where _everyone_ had lost loved ones to their attacks, to deliberately antagonizing every figure of authority who crossed his path on a military base, of all places, to blasting his music whenever Hermann became truly engrossed in a problem (but not in the final moments of it, no, whenever he had fallen into the hypnotic trance of the final proofs, Newt had always gone silent).

“… Well, whenever you feel it would be most inconvenient for you to wake up, I will be here,” Hermann said. “Likely trying to sleep. I would expect nothing less of you.”

There his words failed him. It was the sight of Newt, so quiet and still, shrunken by the long months of his convalescence. Hermann would have half a mind to shake him, just to see him move. Instead, he leaned in and pressed lips that wouldn’t stop trembling to Newt’s forehead. “Goodnight, darling. I will see you very soon.”

 

* * *

 

Newt did not wake during the night.

Or the night after that.

Hermann worked through the days while he waited, resolving old emails from colleagues wondering where he’d vanished to, sending off any promised work that was finished and sitting idle on his laptop. To each he begged forgiveness, and made the excuse that he was caring for a loved one who had fallen ill. It was true, if deliberately vague. He imagined quite a number of them had enough pieces to put it together in any case.

All the while he narrated his thoughts to Newt aloud, asking his opinion on the wording before he hit the send button. He remembered what Pentecost said about conversation perhaps drawing Newt out of the coma, as if he was some sort of house plant.

When there was no more work left to be done, Hermann settled in with the publications he had brought down for Newt’s perusal, and began to read aloud, occasionally pausing for Newt’s commentary.

Each time there was no change. Each time, Hermann went back to reading, and did his best to remain unperturbed.

 

It was a week before the medical team declared Newt’s condition stable enough to risk another Drift.

“Only a short one,” Nurse Chen admonished as the Pons was rolled into the room. Hermann nodded, and tried not to let the pounding of his heart show on his face, projecting every appearance of another routine Drift.

The Pons settled, the lights blinking red as Dante’s Phyrgian cap, and Hermann braced himself to return to that day. To the dim, multihued lights of Shao’s control room, to the gunshots, to Newt bleeding on the floor. Three. Two.

One.

He pressed the button.

Hermann forced his thoughts inward, searching for Newt. He saw a spark, a flash of _blue_ manifest itself. Images, memories flickering before his mind. All familiar.

All his own. His own face. His own memories. The blue faded. He let it fade, and did not chase it further. He did not dare open his eyes. He could not bear to see the sympathy in the nurse’s gaze.

“Dr. Gottlieb? Are you still with us? Are you seeing anything?”

His lips tightened to a line and he kept his eyes screwed shut tight, seeing only himself, reflected back at him.

“No. There's nothing there, only me,” he finally said. There was a tremor in his voice. There was a tremor in his chin but he forced his jaw tight. Still, the words squeaked out, “It is as before.”

He felt Chen take the Pons remote from his hand, and he took the cap from his own head, leaning forward to bury his face in his hands. “Perhaps tomorrow?” she said.

“Perhaps,” Hermann said, the words muffled. “Could you please… leave me with him a moment?”

“Of course,” Chen murmured. He waited until he heard her footsteps recede, and the door close behind her, before he opened his eyes.

They were alone except for the soft purr of the monitoring machinery. He could not have borne it if they were not alone. He would have had to bear it anyway. He had not cried in front of anyone except Newt since he was a child. He had not cried in public when he first learned that Newt was taken. But they were alone, and he had the time and the space, and he had Newton both here and gone at once, and so Hermann allowed himself to slowly collapse forward, as if cradling a gut wound, his hand clenched around Newt’s.

And very quietly, he broke.

 

* * *

 

He Drifted every day after that, falling back into the old habit of his last year, each press of the button like the shock of a defibrillator to an already  failed heart. He would send out the jolt of his memories, reaching for Newt, trying to find that day again, the day of the Ninth Circle. Each time there was nothing and Newt’s body lay there, so still and quiet it felt less and less like him every day.

The first week passed like this.

Then the second.

Hermann sat at the edge of Newt’s bed, listless from the latest failure, the Pons once more in his hand. He stared blankly at the red blinking lights, and could not help to overhear the nurses talking outside. Only snatches, but the meaning was clear.

“... does nothing, but hardly any harm. His condition can’t get any worse.”

“Not much time…”

“If it gives him comfort to try...”

“...But perhaps it would be kinder to…”

Hermann put the Pons aside and pressed his hand to his face, the other clenching around Newt’s in what had become a compulsive gesture, thumb brushing over the knuckles. He looked within himself to the future. Another year of this, or ten, and all their missed chances replaying in torturous repetitive decades, with no end in sight. And he knew, if left to his own devices, he would do it all. Again and again, an upward slog into madness.

Because Pentecost was right.

Because he was in free fall, had been since the bomb went off, since Newton’s hands closed around his throat and he had learned the awful truth, and before that since he had come home to an empty flat and his Drift partner a world away. He had been since Trespasser made landfall on their world and it was finally, finally too much. There was no one left of his colleagues who had saved the world that first time, retired or dead or asleep before him. But he had kept fighting, he had stayed in the game. He told himself he climbed when really he spiraled, pulled apart by the maelstrom of the world’s constant need. Applying his mind again and again and all it had left him with was a world he had destroyed, a world he had saved, and a man he had not. A man he might never save, but with constant Drifts may very soon destroy.

A stubborn part of him rebelled at the thought. Part of him knew he would continue the fight until it destroyed them both, if it had not already. If he was not simply fooling himself even now. But it was foolishness. It was immaturity. It was a child grasping so hard after what he loved that he crushed it in his hand.

It was killing Newt.

It was killing him, and it had to end.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he rasped. The nurses were in the hallway. They were waiting for him to collect himself, giving him the privacy of the darkness and the silence of the hospital room. It was dangerous to attempt a Drift twice like this in a day, as Pentecost had never tired of telling him, but it was years since had had cared enough to balk at danger. “This must be the last one. Once more unto the breach, hmm?”

He stole one last glance to be sure the nurses were still outside the room, paying him no mind. He only had a few moments. Then it would be the end. Then he would leave this place and return to his empty flat and he would once more have to make something of his life now that the world was saved and his was not. But first he would have this one more try, just one more, even if it killed him.

Three.

Two.

One.

And the world washed _blue._

_Hermann is ten years old, crying alone in an empty classroom, his knees drawn up to his chest, his face hidden because tears are a weakness. He isn't allowed to show weakness, his father always says, and no one follows him. No one comforts him. The loneliness of that revelation is crushing him, shaping him, and it will be sixteen years before it will lift at all, before…_

_Hermann is bent over a letter, handwritten and decadent, lovely in this day of instant communication. He speaks the words as he writes them, voice trembling with excitement that he would never admit to and later bitterly regret, “Dr. Geiszler, I believe we should meet.” And they finally do, but…_

_They are screaming at one another, they are screaming every day inside and out as the world ends, and this is never what he wanted, but he doesn’t know how to stop. Everything between them is jagged edges and broken glass. It is the stink of viscera and the screech of chalk on the board at just the right pitch to make Newt wince but even amidst all of this_ hatred _he does not feel alone, he never feels truly alone as long as Newt is there, but..._

_Hermann is staring down at Newt’s convulsing form and for the first time knows what it would mean to lose him, and he can’t let Newt do this alone. He accepts the Pons and neither of them is alone, because..._

_Hermann edges closer, feeling the hum of sympathetic connection and the echoes of the ghost Drift, when suddenly the thought of touching another person does not seem so terrible so long as that person is Newt. Their eyes meet, and Newt looks back at him with the most perplexed expression of wonder that melts into joy, into love as two souls recognizing one another, no longer sundered, and he throws his arm around Hermann’s neck to pull him close, and for the first time everything feels_ right _when…_

_Hermann lies in his bed, Newt curled against him. The sweat from their lovemaking cools on their bodies and Hermann has never known such contentment, such simple peace in all his life. He cannot say it aloud, they don’t have the words yet for what they are, but he reaches down to stroke Newt’s hand as the realization floods him, his skin pale side by side with the bright tattoos, and Newt mumbles and shifts, and inching up to press a sleepy kiss to Hermann’s lips, and he wants to stay there in that moment forever, except…_

_Hermann is pacing their shared quarters in Hong Kong, cane in one hand, his mobile in the other as he obsessively checks the messages and the hours tick by since Newt should have finished his whirlwind interview for Shao Industries. It is days without sleep, it is days before word comes back. Newt has accepted the job. Newt is staying in Shanghai. He’s met someone, a woman. No, he doesn’t need his old junk back, because…_

_Hermann is clawing at the fingers around his throat, fighting for air, until he sees the tears in Newt’s eyes. It is a moment of understanding, of sympathy, of blinding pain as he witnesses the full horror of the Precursors’ hold. The hum of their ghost Drift is dead, severed long ago, but Hermann tries to convey through touch that he knows now, he understands, and he’s so sorry, so sorry he did not see it sooner. That he wishes he could just hold Newt one more time, when a shout rings out from across the room…_

Hermann spasmed, reaching out after the memory of that day, clawing after it with a shout as it raced by, “Newton! Newton, wake up! I’m trying to get back to you, I can’t—!”

_The relentless whirl of the Drift snatches up his words and drags him away and Hermann is…_

_…clenching his cane as he faces the Precursors bound to the chair. They laugh with Newt’s face. Blood streaks from his nose, from the cuts in his lip. They don’t even try to fake him any longer, and outside his cell the war rages on and they laugh, and inside the rage builds, and they will not be laughing forever because…_

_Hermann watches as circle of pure_ white _spread across the sensors, and on the second monitor Newt’s body goes rigid, spine bending back so far it looks as if it will snap, and a silent scream pours from his lips as he goes suddenly, brutally still and Hermann is shouting, racing from the room as the command center erupts in cheers. Some laugh, and some cry, but he is running down to the cells, and the cheers go silent behind him as the circle continues to spread, and spread, and doesn’t stop, but what does it matter, what does any of it matter that he is the destroyer of worlds, if the bomb hasn’t freed Newt at all and instead destroyed him too, and Hermann doesn’t know if he has killed Newt as well, he has no way to know, unless…_

_Hermann puts on the Pons, then takes it off again with a silent snarl, and there is no spark, no stirring from the pale figure of Newt beside him and he won’t give up, everyone tells him he should give up. They say he will injure himself if he continues like this, but they are wrong and he doesn’t care, and he keeps trying, and one day…_

_Hermann presses the button and for the first time he is standing in the void. It is darkness but it is a promise, it is change, it is a chance at redemption. He thinks of the painting above his desk,_ Canto I _, of promises and poetry and all he had once hated, but what else does he have now? Numbers have failed him. The brilliance of his mind has failed him, has left him as nothing except a bringer of death. He turns to poetry, because what else does he have now except the regrets of a man in the middle of his life standing alone in the darkness, with no help, no guide, no voice from the heavens to show him the way out and he does not dare look down. Had not the monsters of their world all come from beneath their feet?_

_He is lost. He stands in the middle of the walk of his life, alone in the shadowed forest, wishing only that one person will emerge to help him, to guide him out._

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita…

_And then he does._

_It is impossible. Hermann struggles to remember his doubts and warnings. He has taken too much hope into the Drift, too many expectations, and he should question this phantasm stepping out from the haze of the Tuscan summer like a mirage, tattoos bright against his white shirt, black framed glasses perched on his nose and hair wild._

_How can he be real, when Hermann wants it so badly? After all this time, after so many failures, so many disappointments, after so many deaths and so many of their lies, after so much he had been unwilling to see, and so many lost years, and finally after so many regrets, how could it be?_

_“Newton?”_

_“Dude, what’s that thing on your head?”_

_And with that the question becomes: how could it be anyone else? This time he will not let him go, he would not abandon Newt again, they would be free of this place, they would both be free of the darkness, except…_

_Newt’s thumb is running back and forth, back and forth over his knuckles. “You gotta… guide us outta here.” His blood is on Hermann’s hands and he is being dragged out, and he is…_

He is being dragged out _now_.

“Dr. Gottlieb!”

_NO!_

_Hermann wrenches back. He stares into the void of blue. If he can just go further, if he can just press on longer... This is the last time. The Pons is shifting on his head. There are voices rising around him and he cannot tell if they are in his mind or outside it._

_Just a little more, he can reach Newt if he can just do a little more. Then it will be over. It has to be over. It has to end. He isn’t strong enough._

_He presses the button, doesn’t know if he presses the button here or there._ 3 - 2 - 1 _He doesn’t know if his thumb is moving out there. It’s moving within the Drift. Three 2 one two three four five, he is drawing equations on the board and he feels his father’s disapproving gaze on the back of his neck._

 _He is ten years old crying alone in the classroom and he is writing to Newt he is screaming abuse across the lab his thumb is pressing the button to Drift three two one 1 2 3 one four one five 9 2 6 5 3. He is wrenched into the Anteverse and there are jaws closing around him he is staring into the yellow of Newt’s glasses they are the exact yellow of Alice’s tank and Newt’s eyes are rolling back into his head and he is screaming as the circle of pure_ white _spreads and Hermann is pressing the button…_

_3_

_2_

_1_

“Get Dr. Gottlieb out of here!”

_… the voice is screaming in his memory as he is dragged away from Newt’s body and his hand fills his vision, reaching out…_

_… his hand is grasping Newt’s, wrapped around his throat and he is rubbing his thumb back and forth over the knuckles. They are lying in bed the sweat of their lovemaking cools and he is rubbing his thumb over Newt’s knuckles because they don’t have the words for this yet, and because no prying eyes can see that safe, small display of affection when he sees the tears standing out stark in Newt’s eyes as he sobs “I’m sorry, Hermann, they’re in my head,” and he is sorry, he is so sorry he did not see, he is so sorry that it took so long and all the world is crumbling around him when the tears stop and Newt kisses his forehead, “Any second now, just relax.” But his cane is gone and the gun fires and Newt_ drops. 

“Here! Newton I am here, please! You must reach for me, I’m not strong enough, I can’t—!”

 _He is swept up, and dragged back, and the Drift is a sea, a torrent of_ blue. _He is ten years old and he is crying alone in the empty classroom…_

_He is twenty-six and he is writing a letter, of all things, to an expert on Kaiju in America, not knowing if this brilliant man will even respond, but there must be someone out there who sees the threat, who understands and he is tired of being…_

_Alone in the empty flat and he is pacing, debating whether he should send one more text, call one more time to the full voicemail box, and the closing, crushing realization that he was not enough is settling inside him when one message comes back._ It’s over. _This year he_   _turned thirty-seven. All they had was one year._ _Newt is staying in Shanghai. He doesn’t want his old junk anymore. He doesn’t want Hermann anymore. He’s met someone._ Don’t embarrass us both, dude. _And even in the worst of their arguments, Newt was never this cruel, he never made Hermann feel this…_

 _Alone in the hotel room with Newt pouring another glass of yellow champagne and staring at him with predatory eyes, and this should be filling the ache inside Hermann but instead he feels more alone than ever as he leans in close. He is forty-four and the sunglasses are like staring into a mask and he wishes Newt would take them off, he wishes Newt would kiss him, he wishes Newt was_ here _so he wouldn’t feel so…_

 _Alone, because Newt is ending the world. Why would Newt want to end the world? Why did Newt leave him alone, except he has the answer now, and how could he not have_ seen _that both of them were so…_

“Newton, I need your help! Don’t leave me here—!”

_Alone, he stands in the cell because Newton is not there, and they laugh in his face with Newt’s face. He is forty-six, searching desperately for some sign, some glimpse of him inside but he sees nothing, and he is…_

_Alone in the hospital room with the Pons warming to his skin and there is nothing, nothing to Drift with, there is no one inside Newt’s body anymore, not the Precursors with their laughter, and not Newt with his. He is forty-eight and wonders if he will see fifty like this, if he will see ninety like this, as Hermann buries his face in his hand and remembers the scream and the glowing circle of_ white _, and the months tick by and he is…_

 _Alone in the memory of the control room, his cane dangles from Newt’s hand and he is both forty-eight and forty-six. He can’t reach him in time, he isn’t strong enough, and Newt smiles and Newt_ drops. _He is dragged from the Drift screaming as Newt’s blood spreads black just as the bomb spread white and he sits at the edge of the bed and he is…_

_Alone, the nurses have left the room they can’t stop him from trying one more time, just one more time, he knows it is a lie, that he will always try just one more time until he is dead, until they are both dead. He is forty-eight and he has nothing left he isn’t strong enough to be so…_

_He presses the button. Three two…_

_Once more unto the breach, dear friends…_

Nel mezzo del cammin...

_One one two three five eight thirteen…_

_He is crying alone in the empty classroom, he is ten years old and he wonders if he will always be so alone, he is writing letters, he is screaming, he is edging closer, he is pacing the empty flat, he is clawing at the hands on his throat, he is watching the sensors, he is throwing open the door to the cell and dragging Newt’s limp body against his chest, and the Precursors are gone why won’t he wake up? He is Drifting to find him, he is pressing the button and…_

_1_

_2_

_3_

_He is crying alone in the empty classroom and the images are coming faster, too fast, he is ten, he is twenty-six, he is thirty-six, he is forty-eight and he is alone and he presses the button and it is killing him…_

_3_

_2_

_1_

_He is crying alone in the empty classroom, and he isn’t strong enough, this is killing him, he’s only ten years old and he is forty-eight, and he is dying, and Newt’s blood is on his hands as the circle of white spreads and the black blood spills across the floor, and he presses the button…_

_1_

_2_

_3_

_He is crying alone in the empty classroom…_

_10_

_26_

_36_

_48_

_He is crying alone…_

_48_

_36_

_26_

_10_

_He is…_

_3_

_2_

_1_

_He…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, please don't kill me! I hope you enjoyed! Please consider leaving a comment if you have a moment!


	14. Treachery, part 2 - Newt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The emperor of the sorrowful kingdom stood, waist upwards, from the ice, and I am nearer to a giant in size than the giants are to one of his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: “Kaiju Groupie” by Ramin Djawadi matches up rather well to the first part. But as this is one of the longest chapters, I feel justified in tossing out two songs, but as the latter is a spoiler, I’ll list it in the end notes.

  _"_ _He’s going into cardiac arrest!”_

_“No! Newton, wake up! You have to wake up!”_

“Hermann?” Newt slurred, and winced as he tried to push himself upright against the control panel where he’d fallen and… yeah, nope, that wasn’t happening. His fingers were numb and shaking way too hard. They kept slipping on the blood, which would be way more gross and freaky if dealing with much worse during Kaiju dissections hadn’t removed all his squeamishness decades ago. 

…Except it was _his_ blood, on the outside where it did not belong, which made it a little gross and freaky. Freakiness seemed the flavor of the day as his sight cleared enough to take in the rest of the room which was, to put it bluntly, fucking _haunting_. 

The vision had frozen the second the bullet buried itself in his body. Too much divergence from his memories maybe, or just a side-effect of its main source and host dealing with catastrophic shock. The screen had locked on the twining red chains of DNA, casting a ghostly glow over the room, and the paralyzed form of Liwen Shao. Her arm was upraised, still pointing the gun just above where Newt had fallen, her knuckle white on the trigger and her face creased in deadly concentration. In the hallway beyond her, shadowy figures blurred like motion lines caught on film, fleeing engineers and emergency personnel, Liwen’s bodyguards close behind her but not able to match the power walking determination of a woman in four-inch heels who really, _really_ wanted to kill her head of R &D.

Newt could hardly blame her. Well, he could, because she was a private-sector merchant of death, and she’d tried to shoot him. But all things considered, Newt had met the Precursors masquerading as him, and even without the whole “destruction of the world” thing, he would have wanted to kill that guy too.

All of this being less important than the fact these thoughts were likely a product his mind wandering as he went into shock. Which was not good. 

“Come on, subconscious, help a guy out here,” Newt muttered. He _knew_ this wasn’t real, but it was a pretty surface-level thought when rapidly losing feeling in his extremities from severe blood loss. It probably didn’t help that thanks to Chau’s goons, he _had_ been shot before, and his body didn’t need to get too creative to remember what that felt like. 

Newt let his head fall back as cold sweat prickled at his forehead and he experienced the joyful inconsistency of temperature that was sitting in blood rapidly cooling from the human body’s 37 C to room temperature, and tried his best to think. He couldn’t just snap his fingers and reset the dream, they were in too deep. Context. He needed context. 

…And a standard issue first aid kit hanging on the wall.

Yeah, maybe Shao’s ultra-sleek office building hadn’t had a first aid kit for every room. But the Hong Kong Shatterdome did, and his shared lab with Hermann had three, in addition to the chemical shower and hazmat quarantine. But dreams always had a weird way of combining different places into one, so Shao’s lab could have this in common with the Hong Kong Shatterdome lab if he focused enough, and Newt clung to that idea as he crawled forward, and nearly face planted on the floor as his arms shook and threatened to give out. 

He made it a few feet when he remembered Hermann’s cane, and—if he could say so—did an excellent job of not passing out when he reached back to retrieve it and the wound _flexed_. Tools. Useful. Not as useful as having Hermann here, but given how Newt’s last sight of the man was Hermann’s hyperventilating himself into a full-blown panic attack, maybe not the worst thing. An assistant would be nice, but he needed to think and that worked best when not simultaneously comforting a guy in the process of taking the blame for _twelve years_ of shitty luck.

Yeah, they were going to need to talk about that when Newt got out of here. 

But right now he really needed to focus his rather awesome eidetic memory on the lectures he attended on how to treat a bullet wound for his doctorate in medicine over two decades ago. 

Newt’s hand left a red streak down the wall as he hoisted himself up, brandished Hermann’s cane, and knocked the first aid kit to the floor with a clatter. Great. Now the fun part could begin. Dream or not, he was _not_ looking forward to the fun part. 

“Hey Herms, remember that old Russel Crowe movie where the doctor performed surgery on _himself_? What a badass,” Newt wheezed conversationally to the air. His fingers fumbled the plastic latch of the kit. He needed to clean and bind the wound; the bullet could wait. Hell, tons of people walked around with old bullets inside them that were too dangerous to take out. The sterilizing alcohol splashed onto the floor as he dumped it onto his hands. “Here goes nothing.”

Newt propped himself up against the wall, chin to his chest as he pulled up the bottom of his blood-soaked silk shirt to reveal black tear of the bullet wound just above his hip, blood streaking from the orange and yellow flame pattern of the tattoo on his stomach. Waves of nausea and dizziness came and went as he unbuttoned the stupid silk vest and shirt, but being a little out of his head helped him forget what should and shouldn’t be in a first aid kit, like surgical gloves, and high-grade local anesthetic. 

“Prep the patient for surgery, Dr. Geiszler,” Newt said in a delirious sing-song. 

Context. Just needed to have it make sense in the vision’s dreamworld that he was getting better. He began to clean and dress the wound, pushing away any intrusive thoughts that threatened to arise, like the fact he should be in screaming agony right now. He could almost imagine he saw lights flickering above, and masked faces bent over him, as if he really _was_ in surgery somewhere, and not just operating on himself in a dreamworld because his stupid _brain_ couldn’t believe he could just wave away a fake bullet wound. 

Being a subconscious perfectionist was a fucking pain in the ass at times like this.

Newt’s breath came in short, sharp gasps, sweat stinging his eyes as he shifted to wrap the bandages under him and around his torso, then drew them _tight_. 

The screaming died down after a bit. When the haze of blackness parted, Newt’s chest was heaving.

“Not bad huh, Herms?” Newt whispered, and passed out. 

* * *

It was dark all around him. Not like the void, at least it didn’t _feel_ like the void. There was no cold, no suffocating silence, and no feeling of weightlessness like he was stuck in a sensory deprivation tank screaming himself senseless without even his own shrill voice for company.

No, this was different. Like he was so weighed down by exhaustion that even opening his eyelids was impossible. Like there was a cement block on his chest. It wasn’t soundless either, he could hear… murmuring. It came from far away, as if someone was mumbling to themselves at the other end of a long tunnel. 

“… Simply have to wait… can hardly be expected to respond to _every_ little email, can I, Newton?”

Wait. He’d know that voice anywhere. He’d know that _tone_ anywhere. Unlike him, Hermann was a wiz at busy work, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t complain about it. Constantly. _Incessantly_. With that exact tone of clipped exasperation as he muttered to himself in little snatches of half-heard grumbling that used to drive Newt _batty_ on the other side of the lab. He wanted to move, to remind Hermann of the fact, but it was like trying to wake up from a cat nap after a 36 hour shift. His whole body was whining, _Just ten more minutes, Dad_ , and everything was so _heavy_ and he was so fucking _exhausted._ But even if it was like moving a mountain just to breathe, a bitch just might think furiously in Hermann’s general direction if it meant turning off the annoying soundtrack of office griping. _Seriously dude, of all the things I’ve gotta listen to when I’m trying to sleep, it has to be your boring-ass_ emails _?_

“… You’re right, enough of those,” Hermann muttered somewhere at the far end of the tunnel. “Shall I read to you from the academic journals instead? I have one here on the current state of skin cell regeneration research. There’s been some remarkable advances in the field, or so I’m given to understand.”

_Oh, sure thing, Herms. Great choice if you want to put me right back to sleep. I wrote the fucking book on that shit when I was sixteen. You really think Prof. Whatever at Who-Gives-a-Crap University has an edge on_ me _? Evil aliens used my fucking brain to take over the world with_ cloned Kaiju parts _, dude. And maybe you don’t get what level of insane skill that takes, so let’s put it in kindergarten terms: the science behind lil’ old me figuring out how to clone creatures that aren’t even_ carbon-based _from a different dimension so that they function here on Earth is so hilariously ahead of human skin cell regeneration we’re not even talking a different league, it’s an entirely different_ sport. _Like a sport people will play thousands of years in the future, on_ Mars _. It’s like comparing three-dimensional chess to tic-tac-toe_. _Scratch that, it’s comparing three-dimensional chess to monkeys throwing rocks at each other. But please, tell me more about the future of curing paper cuts!_

Well, it seemed like Hermann was prepared to do just that, and Newt grumbled as he settled back to strain after the little snatches he could hear. He wished he could wake up the rest of the way, wanted to force himself out of the dark, but the weight was so heavy, and he was so tired, and he wasn’t strong enough…

_Could have just told me about your day, Herms_ , Newt as he drifted back into unconsciousness. _I would have actually liked to hear about that._

* * *

_“Here! Newton I am here, please! You must reach for me, I’m not strong enough, I can’t…!”_

Newt stirred again at the sound of a familiar voice that warbled in and out, as if he was hearing it over a scratchy radio played in the next room. 

_“Newton, I need your help! Don’t leave me here…!”_

He needed to get up. He needed to get to that voice. He needed to…

Newt opened his eyes. He was still in the Shao control room, and the lights crackled the same unsettling blue and purple as when he had first passed out. Shao faced away from him, her gun upraised and pointed above the pool of black blood on the floor where he had fallen. There was a sound, just out of hearing and if he craned his ears he could almost make out a noise like a wind storm had kicked up outside the building. He was otherwise alone, and the bullet wound…

…still hurt like motherfucking _son of a bitch_. 

Newt clutched his side and gave a long hiss between his teeth. His whole body clenched against a wave of agony, and his jaw tightened as he ground his teeth to force it back, panting and whimpering his way through the pain. But after a few seconds that felt like they would never end, it eased, and Newt dared look down to check out the damage. 

His black vest and shirt were open, the white bandages stark against the tattoos of his stomach. A spot of red shading to black at the center crept outward from the wound above his hip. Beyond that, on the floor, Hermann’s cane lay beside the open first aid kit, and never let it be said he wasn’t a genius _and_ an improviser. Newt’s fingers were cold, and they shook as he reached out to grab the head of the cane. 

“ _We gotta get out of this place_ ,” Newt sang, and giggled hysterically under his breath as the pain made his head spin while he leveraged himself to his feet. “Thanks for the assist, Herms… uh, Hermann’s cane. I should give you a name. Speaking of which…” Newt panted as he looked around the nightmare vision of a lab. “Hermann, are you here?”

Silence echoed back at him, except for that weird _sound_ , a sobbing whine like a distant storm. He shivered as the haunting cry combined with the sight of the ghostly figures standing around him, locked in a perpetual memory, a slice of time. He had heard the gunshots last time, but caught only a glimpse of what he later realized was Hermann’s cane knocking the gun from Liwen’s hand before They were taking over his body, shoving him down as far as They could, where he had stayed ever since, before presumably They made Their escape. 

It wasn’t just a bad memory, it was his last memory. The last sight he had seen before the dark, and the replay wasn't much better.

_I don’t know how to change any of this on my own_ , Hermann had sobbed, working himself up to total hysterics over not _single-handedly_ saving Newt from mind-controlling aliens that had almost wiped out the Earth, _twice_. Honestly, the arrogance of that guy cut both ways, Newt thought with a grimace. 

“Yeah, me neither, buddy,” Newt muttered, and his heart twisted in a flash of guilt. He hadn’t wanted to stick all of that on Hermann. Hell, he didn’t want to stick _any_ of this on Hermann. Especially not after the realization grew with every Circle that Hermann might be just as much of a mess as he was, if not way, way worse, all hidden under that infuriating, stuffy English stiff upper lip _bullcrap_. 

Except that he needed Hermann to get out of here, which brought Newt to his next problem. 

Hermann wasn’t here. There was just Newt, and the frozen memory of Liwen, and the crying wind to fill the otherwise ghostly silence. And Newt had never been able to bust out of any of the Circles alone, it probably wasn’t _possible_ , and of all the fucking memories he had to get stuck on forever it had to be _this_ one? For all his fiddling with the mindscapes and all of Hermann’s fussing, they’d broken most of them by instinct, unable to establish the pattern until they ran out of new data points. 

Well, _almost_ ran out of new data points. At least they knew now that taking Newt out to stop the Precursors wasn’t going to cut it. 

“Yeah ok, that one’s on me, we totally should have stopped and figured this one out first,” Newt said, voice strained, and he grimaced as his hand came away sticky as he clutched his side. “So you got me there, Herms, I’m an idiot and shooting stuff still isn’t the solution to anything. But I still think you’re wrong about _being responsible for every bad thing that ever happened, ever_. Jesus _fuck_ dude, I wish you’d come back so I could kick your ass, you martyr-complex son of a bitch. _Fuck._ ” The pain pulsed in his side, radiating down his right hip and he leaned heavily on the cane as he sucked in breath to keep his vision from darkening. The cane shivered in his grip. He could practically _hear_ Hermann’s snippy voice at the back of his head retorting, _Well, if I’m wrong then what_ is _the answer, Newton?_

“Oh fine, maybe you’re not _completely_ wrong,” Newt muttered. If only that damn wind would stop howling outside so he could hear himself _think_. “Ugh, I can’t believe I’m saying this. Ok…ok ok ok, wait, I think I’ve got something. Shut _up_ , Liwen!” He turned and jabbed his finger at Liwen. “God, that was satisfying. No. Wait, that’s not a terrible idea.” Newt hobbled over to Liwen, and propped Hermann’s cane against her. “You be Hermann for a second. You’ll be good at it, just look stern and disapproving. See? You’re a natural. Eh, except I need that back. And, Jesus, stop pointing that thing at me,” Newt sighed. He took a pained step towards her and began prying the gun finger by finger out of her grip. There. He tossed the gun over his shoulder, where it clattered onto the console. Liwen pointing a gun at him had seemed an all-too-real possibility on some of the worst days, but Liwen snarling as she pointed empty fingers at him was just another day in the office.

Newt then took the cane back and squared off once more with Liwen, wincing as pain from the wound radiated up through his hip and spine from the exertion like the world’s worst paper cut. Did Hermann deal with this _every_ _day?_ No wonder the guy got snappy. 

“Ok, let’s start over: Hermann was wrong.” Newt paused to savor the nostalgic shiver of pleasure those words gave him, then continued, “Hermann was wrong: this isn’t about fixing my worst memories and this _definitely_ isn’t about him digging around through my worst memories for his own messed up self-flagellation or whatever because uh, dude? Not to be morbid or anything but none of these were even _close_ to my worst memories. Except maybe the hospital, that day fucking sucked, but most of the Circles? The emails, Alice, drinking myself stupid, giving interviews,” Newt took a deep breath, ticking off the others on his fingers, “the PPDC pitch, the… ugh, the rooftop, the hotel, and _here_? Most of those were _ordinary_ , man. Hell, some were even kinda _nice_ because at least I got to see you! I’ve literally got _hundreds_ of days worse than those!”

“But…” Newt raised his eyebrows and pressed his fist to his mouth, feeling the cold metal of his ring as a familiar, soothing pressure against his skin, even if the Precursors made him swap out the skull ring for _this_ garish little number. “But maybe you were right about them being days where you could have intervened,” Newt muttered. “Except you keep focusing on the bad shit, man, like you _always_ do. Sure the memories sucked, but we broke out of them! We made them good memories, we _owned_ this stupid puzzle, together, because we kick _ass_ when we work as a team. So _maybe_ these were moments you picked out of my head because they were times you should have saved me, or _maybe_ …” Newt stumbled over the words, and he gave a sharp intake of breath. “Or _maybe_ they were just things that involved both of us? Because the Circles have been broken by _both_ of us. It wasn’t just you saving me. That’s what kept tripping us up from the beginning, the thing we were missing the whole time: that you’re involved too. That it’s not just about you putting me here, or getting me out. This is about _both_ of us because…”

Newt’s eyes snapped wide, and he breathed, “Because we’re in the Drift.”

“Oh _shit_ , we’re in the Drift!” Newt began to talk faster, his voice going stuttering and shrill and he began to pace in tight circles in front of Liwen. “Of _course._ Sure, it’s been a _weird_ Drift with the visions and the Circles and the memories, but at the end of the day, we’re still in a Drift. You showed up the first time wearing a Pons! And even if the memories are mostly from my head, there’s still a ton of stuff here that I _never_ would have come up with, like the Italian countryside, and this goddamn cave formation… _Ha!_ I _knew_ part of this had to be your fault! It’s been here all along, staring us in the face. It’s not your fault, it’s both of us. This is made of _both_ of our memories. We’re _equals,_ partners! We helped close the Breach together when we Drifted, right? We figured out how to shut the Precursors down. We did it by being inside each other’s heads, because our Drift went…”

Newt spun on his heels, cane tapping, and stopped just inches from colliding with—

—himself.

“ _Three ways_ ,” growled the other Newt.

“Shit!” Newt screeched and stumbled back, pain arching up from the bullet wound and his hand clasped it instinctively as he fell back against the console. 

His doppelgänger wore the same waistcoat and black silk shirt, but this one was buttoned up and there was no bullet wound, no bandages on his stomach, and metal bracelets like shackles hung from his right wrist. His jacket was off and his sleeves drawn back to reveal the leering Kaiju faces on his forearms, sinister in the faded light, their multiple eyes watching. 

“ _Did you forget we were there too, Dr. Geiszler?_ ” The other Newt advanced towards him, his words the rumble of the Creepy Voice. _“Did you really think you could ever leave this place once you let us in? You will never escape this moment or your eternal slumber, not until your mind fails and your body dies. Our last parting gift to you.”_

Newt’s hand shot out instinctively to claw at the console table, until it closed on the roughened metal grip of the pistol, and whipped it out in front of him. His arm shook as he pointed it towards the… thing that looked like him. 

He had seen that face so many times in the mirror but it had always been slightly removed. Even when he was most in control during those years, he was only ever pressed up to the glass, seeing out his own eyeballs like they were windows. To see himself from the outside like this was to witness just how _alien_ the transformation had been. It was like his rough edges had been sawed off, and all that was left was cold swagger and polish. A rough approximation of him, drawn from some sort of fucked up funhouse mirror, the color sapped away. 

“Ok, I know the whole ‘alien possession’ thing is an admittedly batshit insane to figure out on your own, Herms, but we’re gonna need to talk about the fact you thought this was me,” Newt said, his voice going high and hysterical. He was distantly glad for the first time ever that he had no glasses to lose as he scrambled backwards, breathing hard and pushing back flashes of Otachi’s iridescent tongue as the _thing_ advances on him, mirror each of his steps backwards with one forward.

_“Figured it out?”_ the other him chuckled. _“He would have lain with us had we let him. He would have given us everything we wanted just to please you, and he did. So desperate and pathetic that he never noticed. We destroyed him without touching him.”_

“Low blow, guys,” Newt said and tried to ignore how his voice shook, barely audible over the mournful howl of the wind. “You can’t make fun of him for wanting to sleep with you. I mean, you were in my body, duh, of course he did.” But the image of Hermann in the hotel room played in his mind despite himself, flushed from the alcohol They’d forced down his throat, and Hermann wanting so desperately to be with this thing, worse, to be _touched_ by it. And all the while the Precursors leered and hated and laughed at Hermann for being lonely, when They were the ones who had made him alone. For missing Newt, when They had taken him away, for missing what they _had_ , when They had stolen even the memory of it from Newt’s head. It made him sick, and it made him _furious_. “And for the fucking record, he’s _my_ Drift partner. _I’m_ the only one who gets to make fun of him, and at least when I do it, he’s around to defend himself!”

“ _A Drift partner who never searched for you, who never saw that we had taken your place. Did you ever consider that he never truly knew you? Not as we did._ ” The other Newt reached its hand towards him, chains dangling from its wrist, and the smirk broadened, showing white teeth, as Newt yelped and wrenched away. “ _We are your true Drift partners. We have been with you more than any creature of this world, and known you more deeply. We have been_ inside _you.”_

“First of all, gross. Second, it’s not like you gave me a choice!” Newt shot back. “You _forced_ me to Drift with you!”

“ _Did we force you?_ ” the other Newt said, and stopped, and somehow managed to loom above him though their bodies were the same height. “ _Did we force you that first time, or the second? Do you remember how many times you came back to us willingly, can you even count the number of times you begged for it?_ ”

Newt shivered and stumbled another step back, clutching his side. It was all a blur. But he remembered the day They had flipped on the light switch in his brain like he was some sort of pre-programmed sleeper agent. He remembered seeing the recruitment email from Shao Industries, distantly thinking that he’d never take that job in a million years, not with some ugly-ass weapons manufacturer doing their damndest to destroy the world they had just saved, using Jaegers to fight people where they had once fought monsters. 

And then he had woken up alone in Shanghai in a strange apartment, the job already accepted, and felt a terrible  _need_ burning inside him, physically aching with the desire to Drift, and seen the yellow light pulsing from the bedroom. “No, assholes, because you took my _memories_. Just like you took _me_ from my life, and my friends, and _Hermann_ and made me look like some kind of _jackass!_ But none of that matters now because you’re dead meat. We _beat_ you, we _won_ , and when I get out of here—!”

_“Even if you escape, your years will still be gone. Your dreams still bent to our purpose, your memories stolen, the damage done. That victory will always be ours_.”

Newt opened his mouth. After all, it was such a _pathetic_ victory. An entire evil, colonizing alien empire wiped out, all for the satisfaction of torturing two nerds for a decade? That was _nothing_. That was _peanuts_  compared to what Earth had sacrificed during the first invasion. It was a goddamn _bargain_. He’d trade it a thousand times over if it was just him spending one shitty decade…ok, an _incredibly_ shitty decade, with the Precursors gone at the end of it. 

But it wasn’t just his years that were lost.

The gun wavered as Newt looked around, and outside the wind sobbed as if echoing the sinking of his heart. _He_ might have walked into all this, but Hermann? Hermann hadn’t done anything wrong except help him, and care about him.  Hermann was the one who had to actually _fight_ the war that took out the Precursors. Hermann had to carry the burdens. Hermann had struggled and fought, when one after another the pilots had died and the old guard abandoned him, and Newt had vanished. And then the invasion began, and of _course_ the PPDC went to him, of _course_ they’d gone to the last hero left who had closed the Breach when they realized it was a war they couldn’t win. And Hermann _had_ won it, he had destroyed the monsters that hurt them. But before that, Hermann had spent ten years suffering, not knowing why he was alone,  _why_ he was tormented and abandoned.

“Ok sure, you got us. So what?” Newt said, his voice shaking. His whole body was shaking, but he tightened his jaw and even took a tentative step forward, jabbing the gun at his other self as he tried to summon some anger to beat back the fear. “We got you back. But that’s not the point, right? Because it still happened, and we’ve gotta live with that. That’s all we can do. That and a shit-ton of therapy and _ha_ , I bet you guys weren’t counting on _that_ being a thing, because Earth is _awesome_. We’re going to get through this, Hermann and I. We’re gonna be ok. Because we are fucking _done_ with you.”

_“But_ we _are not done with_ you _,_ ” the other him reached out and Newt flinched back, jerking another step away but something stopped him, and when he turned it was the console where he had pinned Hermann with his hands around his throat, and there was nowhere to go. The mirror of his own fingers brushing his cheek and Newt made a strangled sound as he stared into his own eyes, cold with malice. The cry of the wind turned to a scream. “ _Poor little scientist, so certain of your victory, so_ convinced _you are free of us when you have no proof._ ”

“Y-Yes I do. I _am_ free,” Newt panted. “Hermann bombed the fuck out of your planet, there isn’t enough of left to fill an ashtray. He—”

“ _Did he, or is that only what your mind wishes to be true?_ ” the other him said. He leaned in close, his hand caressing Newt’s face. It made Newt nauseous, like looking into a mirror that didn’t follow his motions. “ _So desperate for a solution that you followed any path given without question, even one that could only bring you here: to the day of our victory. And never once did you wonder. Never once did you question what would be waiting for you at the end._ ”

“Except you _didn’t_ win that day. They stopped you. The PPDC stopped you. Hermann stopped you,” Newt said, but his voice grew fainter, drowned out by the wind, and each word sounded less convincing to his own ears. “They closed the breaches, and they destroyed your Kaiju. They invaded your world…”

The other him snickered. “ _Yes, of course. With Kaiju blood for rocket fuel, and all our carefully laid plans foiled, and Hermann so very_ sorry _he did not realize you were gone before it was too late. Wasn’t it all just… a little_ too _perfect?”_

Newt’s mouth worked and his vision blurred. He recoiled further from his mirror self, bending backwards against console, and pain shot through the bullet wound like lightning, paralyzing him. He needed to move. He needed to get _away_ , but he was frozen, trapped as agony twisted through him.

“ _What made you think you would ever be free? You have only Hermann’s word for it, and he may not even be real,_ ” the other Newt chuckled. “ _The real evidence is before you. Travel as far or as deep into your own mind as you wish, we will be there at the end, waiting. Now that you have let us in, we always will be. Even if you should awaken we will be there, ready to put you back to use. You cannot resist us. You are not strong enough._ ”

“No, no I won’t. You’re dead,” Newt squeaked and his vision blurred and cleared again. Their hand was on his face, caressing him, holding him in place. “None of this is happening. They’re gone, the Anteverse was destroyed, this isn’t…”

“ _And how are you so_ certain _that you are free?_ ” The shadows wavered and moved, and a figure rose behind the other Newt, like demonic wings unfolding. Long, spindly arms stretched out from a form that was vaguely humanoid, eyes glowing blue like some sort of Elder God. And he knew that shape, he knew those figures. He had seen them outlined against the acid sky, had watched them craft the blood and bones of the Kaiju. He had seen them in his nightmares: the Precursors. _“When we have never released you from our service?_ ”

Newt’s throat seized and he squeezed his eyes shut in denial. The wind screamed and sobbed and even in the dark he could _feel_  Them looming above him and his heart pounded like it was going to break his ribcage and the wound in his side _pulsed_. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. They weren’t here, They couldn’t be, They… “You’re just a memory. This isn’t real, none of this is _real_ ,” he whispered under his breath like a prayer and didn’t dare open his eyes. “Hermann’s going to come back, and when he does…”

“ _But he is already here,”_ the Precursor crooned. Newt opened his eyes despite himself and swallowed as the alien creature filled his vision, and his own smirking face stared back into his from inches away. The other him cocked his head to the side as if listening, and the Precursor mirrored his movement. “ _Can’t you hear him?_ ”

Newt’s breathing stopped as he listened and suddenly, he _could_. The haunting, wailing cry of what he thought was the wind rising around them like some kind of voice of the damned. But now he listened closer and there were  _breaths_ between the cries, and the voice was high and thin, like a child crying alone. 

“ _He won’t be able to help you. He is trapped in the void as surely as you are. Formless. Lost. And soon buried within a body that will decay around him as he falls further into the dark, searching for you even now. Just as we knew he would when we buried you deep. Our final vengeance._ ”

“No,” Newt breathed, and wrenched around to search the room but he was pinned against the console, and the Precursors and his own leering face filled his vision before him and he couldn’t see Hermann _anywhere_. His voice rose to a shriek, “No, Hermann! I’m right here, dude, you have to follow my voice! We can still do this!”

_“He cannot hear you. He never will.”_ The Precursor drew closer, their shadows blacking out the corners of Newt’s vision. Something seized his ankles, drawing tight like manacles, and when he wrenched to pull away, it seized his wrist as well and he saw the shadows reaching out from the Precursors form, latching onto him, and a whimper broke from the back of his throat. “ _You are ours, and now he is as well. You have finally delivered him to us, just as we asked._ ”

“I didn’t. I didn’t ask for any of this, I didn’t ask him to come down here looking for me!” Newt babbled, and the shadows drew tighter. The darkness was closing, he could feel the cold touch of the void and the blue of the Precursor’s many eyes glinted in the light of the fading room. “Let him go, please! He isn’t part of this. You can have me again. I’ll—I’ll work for you again, do whatever you want, just… please…”

_Begging never worked on Them,_ Newt remembered, squeezing his eyes closed to clear his vision then forced them open again. There were only patches of light visible at the corners of his world, his mirror image was falling into shadow, his smirk white against the darkness, the Precursor blocking out all sight before him. Newt’s extremities were going numb, he couldn’t feel the cane, or tell if he still held the gun, or if his hands were there at all anymore. He was falling back into the void. Weight pressed against his chest as his heart pounded. He couldn’t move, and somewhere out there Hermann was trapped too, crying alone. 

“ _Still think we aren’t real?_ ” the other Newt leered. His hand fell from Newt’s cheek to his throat, the cold metal of the shackles brushing against his skin as fingers closed around his throat. 

_I’m sorry, Hermann_ , Newt thought, as the fingers squeezed tight, cutting off his breath, _They’re in my head._

It was all happening again, but Hermann was never supposed to get trapped here too. Newt was the one who was supposed to pay for his stupidity, _he_ was the one who only got a sliver of hope of ever getting out alive, knowing it was the cowardice that kept him from saving the world before it could be threatened again. 

It was happening again, and They were going to take his body back and pilot him like the puppet he was, only now there was no Hermann to stop Them.  What did it matter if They were dead if there was enough of Them left in the Drift, enough left in his _head_ to start Their plan all over again? What if They had turned him into a wind-up soldier, a little piece of the hive mind that would keep working even when the rest was dead, even with no mothership to return to, and it would all happen again? 

They might have killed Hermann. They had killed so many others using him, and he wasn’t strong enough to stop Them. He had never been strong enough, not to stop Them from taking him, or changing him. Not strong enough to call for help, or even to get out of his own mind, and not strong enough to save Hermann, and it was all happening again, his worst nightmare, his worst fears of what could happen if he ever tried to escape…

_His worst fears…_

_Oh._

Newt’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, because you _aren’t_ ,” Newt retorted. He reached past the hand of his mirror-self wrapped around his throat, and other Newt’s mouth went slack in shock as Newt placed his fingertips on his chest, over that stupid silk vest and black shirt, and _pushed_.

The other Newt dissolved into a puff of smoke. The shadows vanished with it, leaving only Newt and the Precursor. Its cobalt eyes glittered as it looked down at him, questioning, daring him to act against the creatures that had imprisoned him for over ten years. 

“That’s why you had to do it, isn’t it?” Newt said. He raised the gun, pointing it between the Precursor’s many eyes. “That’s why you had to beat me down, and wipe my memories, and drive away everyone who cared about me. Because you knew if you didn’t, I could throw you out like last week’s garbage.” He cocked the gun. “You knew that I _am_ strong enough.”

That was what the Circles had shown him, that was the reason for the climb. Rings upon rings of escapes, building one by one to the truth: that there was an escape, that it was over, that he didn’t need to be afraid of _them_ anymore, they were gone. All that was left of their legacy was the shadow in his mind: his own worst fears.

Newt turned his back on the Precursor and strode across the room, because it wasn’t like it could do anything anyway, and he was ever the frontman with a flair for showmanship. The pool of his blood on the floor evaporated as he passed it, and when Newt looked down at himself the suit was gone. The wound was gone. His white shirt was rolled to the elbows, exposing his tattoos. _His_ , not theirs, because they could _never_ understand what it meant to paint a memorial to the slaves of your enemies on your skin. To remember all your world had lost with every single one, to celebrate and mourn and to commemorate all at once. 

“Sorry Liwen, I’m gonna have to step on your moment here,” Newt said. With a light nudge, he pushed Liwen to the side and at his touch, she too dissolved into smoke.  Newt took her place, turning to face the Precursor. He raised the gun, looking down the barrel past the flare of his tattoos, at the memory of his torturers. Maybe it would be worth it to stay a little longer, give them just a _taste_ of what they had put him through…

“Nah, not really my style,” Newt said, and with a shrug, tossed the gun aside. Hermann’s distant cries rose and fell, and his heart twisted. Newt raised his finger to his lips. “ _Shh,_ I’ll be right there, babe. Just gotta finish one thing first.”

Newt took a deep breath and squared off against the Precursor. “Alright, take two. _I’m_ not going to let _you_ destroy my life’s work. And for the record, yeah, I _am_ the smartest person in the room, thanks for asking,” Newt said, and made a finger-gun with his hand that he pointed at the Precursor. “Bang!”

The Precursor blew away into particles of smoke and dust. 

The room dissolved.

* * *

As the rounded walls of the cavern chamber faded back into view, two things caught Newt’s eye. One was a shadowed opening in the rock where the memory once glittered, with a path flowing on behind it, further down into the earth. It was different, somehow, than the others. No directionless light emanated from the opening. It just seemed still, quiet, like any other real-life cave.

The other was a little boy, no more than ten years old, curled up into a ball. His arms were wrapped around his knees as he drew them to his body and his wailing, aching sobs that had filled the room were reduced to sniffles now. Just the quiet misery of a child who did not want to be seen crying, but couldn’t stop. 

“Hey buddy,” Newt said as he knelt down in front of the kid. He placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and of _course_  he was already wearing a sweater-vest at this age, with shorts and socks up to his knees. His black hair was cut in an awkward undercut even back then, and Newt felt such a rush of fondness he thought his damn _heart_ would explode into kittens and rainbows at the sight. “It’s ok, you’re not alone anymore. I’m here.”

The boy’s sniffling stopped. He looked up through his folded arms, and Newt caught a glimpse of Hermann’s face softened by childhood, with the familiar wide mouth and dark eyes ringed with red from crying. God, he was just a tiny _baby_ , and it was the cutest damn thing Newt had ever seen in his whole _life_. 

“Newt?” a small voice said.

“Yeah.” Newt smiled softly and resisted the urge to ruffle the kid’s hair. “You did it. You saved me.”

Not ruffling the kid's hair was probably a good instinct, because with a muffled squawk Newt fell back as baby Hermann  _poof_ ed out of existence, and in his place adult Hermann appeared, blinking and baffled. “I did? But I was utterly useless in that Circle, Newton, all I did was get in the way and then _vanish_ on you, I—” Hermann started, and put his hand to his cheek, which came away glinting with tears. “Have I been crying?”

“It’s alright, Herms, I won’t tell,” Newt said. “Maybe you just needed to get that out there. It’s been a rough couple years. And anyway, it’s 2035, men can cry now.”

“It’s 2037,” Hermann retorted. 

“See, you always were the numbers guy.” Newt grinned.

“It’s hardly mathematics, it’s a _date_.”

“A date, you say? Well, then I accept.”

Hermann started, and looked up from where he’d been studying teardrop on his fingertip to stare at Newt. “… Is it really you?”

Newt spread his hands, and almost overbalanced where he knelt. “In the flesh, baby. Well, not technically, since—”

A sudden impact against his chest cut him off, and he only pieced together what happened after his back hit the cavern floor and the air _whuffed_ from his lungs. 

There were several steps involved, which his brain immediately set to categorizing. One, Hermann’s eyes widening like one of those cat videos where they’re about to pounce. Two, Hermann scrambling forward, and almost rising to his feet before, three, his leg gave out from under him and, four, he overbalanced, and five, pitched into Newt’s unprepared arms. This lead to, six, getting interrupted by a much taller, gangly man landing full on top of Newt who, seven, gave a strangled _eep_ of alarm and, eight, did his best to try to catch Hermann before, nine, failing entirely to do and having his full weight land on top of him, when Newt hit the cavern floor. 

Where he was still struggling to breathe. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so terribly sorry,” Hermann whispered, his words muffled against Newt’s chest. Newt blinked down at him owlishly. 

“Nah, dude, don’t worry, it happens,” Newt said, and winced as he shuffled beneath Hermann a little, only to realize Hermann was clutching at his shirt and refusing to let go. 

“I meant the Circle,” Hermann said, his voice muffled by the fabric of Newt’s shirt. “I left you there alone and I tried, Newton, I _tried_ to get back in to help you, but I couldn’t…”

“Hey. Hey, it’s ok, I figured it out,” Newt said. He stroked the remnants of that ridiculous undercut, and just for good measure gave it the ruffling he’d resisted on baby Hermann. “It didn’t even take that long, once I got what was going on.”

Hermann gave a soft, despairing cry and pulled himself up Newt’s chest, and Newt barely had time to suck in a breath before Hermann mashed their lips together, kissing him like he was drowning. “It was _weeks_ , you ridiculous man,” he groaned when he broke away again. “I thought you were gone. I thought I would never find you again. I wondered if I had _ever_ found you, or if all the years and all the Drifts would simply…” he choked, and pressed his lips to Newt again. Newt stared up through the tirade, gaze fixed on Hermann, on how his brows drew up together as he kissed, how there was a hint of salt on his lips from the tears. “… would simply kill you,” Hermann gasped. He pressed their foreheads together. “I thought I had killed you.”

“I’m ok…” Newt tried, but the tremors were racing through Hermann’s body, and it didn’t seem like enough. This wasn’t just a Hermann freakout, this felt _wrenching_. Weeks? What did that mean? Had Hermann just kept trying to Drift with his comatose body, not getting anywhere, just putting on the Pons and hitting blackness, or the empty cavern, or…or just nothing at all? Were the Precursors right and he had gotten lost in the void, not just stuck as an admittedly adorable little kid, and if Newt hadn’t gotten out he really would have been trapped for years, just like Newt?

The breath rushed out of Newt at the thought, at what he would do if the situation was reversed, and it sent such a bolt of pure _terror_ through him that suddenly he was grabbing Hermann back, wrapping his arms around his chest and squeezing him so tight his arms shook. Hermann’s breath hitched at the pressure but then he sighed and relaxed against Newt’s chest.

“I was prepared to give up,” Hermann said, his voice thick. “I need you to do something for me, Newton. Will you promise me you will do it?”

“Sure, anything you want,” Newt murmured against Hermann’s hair. “I mean, normally I’d say tell me what it is first, but I think you’ve earned a no-conditions request.”

“Please be real,” Hermann whispered. “Your vitals haven’t changed since… since we were separated. Everyone out there has given up or is too kind to tell me so. I need whatever is at the end of this cavern to be a miracle, and I need you to be there at the end of it.”

“I can’t make any promises about the cavern, but I am real, I promise. Cartesian basics, remember?” Newt said softly. Hermann flinched, burying his face into Newt’s chest and Newt reached down, guiding Hermann’s face up with a finger on his chin. He craned his neck down to kiss Hermann, drawing it out until Hermann sighed against his lips and some of the stiffness left his body. Hermann’s lips were warm and desperate against his, and Newt let it go on until Hermann seemed satisfied and broke away first to breathe. “See? You think a hallucination can kiss like that?” Newt offered a rakish grin. 

Hermann huffed a sigh and looked away. “The human imagination… It doesn’t matter. At least, there’s no use dwelling on it. Whatever happens, will happen.” But he hesitated, as if not so sure himself, and leaned forward to kiss Newt one more time. “We should hurry, I’m not sure how long I have here. Have I been crushing you this whole time?”

“ _Just a little_ ,” Newt wheezed theatrically, and Hermann sighed and clambered off him, snatching the cane from the ground to get to his feet. Newt hopped up and put out an arm to help Hermann the rest of the way. 

“Your wound,” Hermann said, his fingers reaching towards Newt’s hip. “It’s gone now?”

“ _Now_ you ask. Yeah, dude, good as new,” Newt said. “Probably could have just wished it away or something if I’d figured out the Circle sooner and not had to do the whole Medieval self-surgery thing because that _sucked_.”

“You… performed surgery, on yourself?” 

“Hell yeah. The whole shebang: antiseptic, bandages, had to leave the bullet in though. It was totally badass, there was a _shit-ton_ of blood…” Newt trailed off at the expression of horror on Hermann’s face. “Yeah, y’know, none of that really matters, we should just go.”

Hermann had gone distinctly green. “Quite.”

The shadowed exit to the cavern waited, and as Newt approached his hair ruffled as if in some kind of subterranean breeze. Without looking he reached out his hand behind him, and relaxed as he felt the warmth of Hermann’s closing around it. 

They began to walk. The trail cut deeper into the Earth, on a constant downward slope that kept getting steeper until Newt was bracing Hermann as they walked and Hermann had his cane out in front of him to slow their descent.

“How did you get out of there, Newton?” Hermann said quietly, the sound of his cane the only noise besides there footsteps as they stepped into the dark path downward, to whatever lay in store at the end of the path. 

“Yeah, about that... I almost didn’t.”

“What? Dear God, I’m so sorry. If I hadn’t left you alone—”

Newt perked up, and saw the look of guilt and panic flash across Hermann’s features. “Hey, no, that’s not what I meant! It wasn’t on you, man, none of it was. It wasn’t your job to break me out of there, and definitely wasn’t your fault.”

“It was my _privilege_ to help you, Newton,” Hermann retorted, his expression gone pale and severe. “It was never a _job_ for me! That you would even _suggest_ such a thing is—!”

“That’s not what I’m saying, I’m saying it was me!” Newt interrupted. “It was just me, ok? It was _my_ fears, and the conditioning, and all the _shit_ the Precursors put in my head about how I wasn’t strong enough, how I could never be free of them. I was holding _myself_ back. _I_ needed to be the one to get myself out!”

“But the mindscape, the selection of memories…” Hermann said.

“Was a mix, yeah, which is why the memories were all things we _both_ knew about, because we’re in the _Drift_ , dude! That’s how I knew you were in trouble. And for the record, you were _totally wrong_ about the whole thing being your fault somehow! If it _was_ all about just making you feel better—by which I mean way worse, you should really get that massive guilt thing checked out—about replacing the memories of not saving me those other times, or making up for all the times you couldn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to get out of Nine on my own. Sometimes it’s not all about you!”

Hermann bristled. “I never _claimed_ it was all about me!”

“But you _kinda_ _did_ at first, with the whole _woe is me, the Circles are all my fault and we could have escaped immediately if not for my need to flagellate myself for insane circumstances that were utterly beyond my control_ ,” Newt mimicked in his stuffy professor voice. “I dunno, maybe _you_ needed that but, newsflash, I had my own bullshit to work on. I couldn’t have clicked my heels and gotten out _right away_ , either. We’re not just talking neural load here, I spent _ten years_ with those assholes telling me I was their prisoner and there was nothing I could do to save myself. That was some _deeply_ internalized bullshit going on. But you know what the Circles did for me, what _you_ did for me? You showed me I _can_ , even way back in Five when _you_ pushed me to fight, _you_ showed me I was strong enough to get out, and it got easier every time after that. So, _you were_ right about some things too.” Newt grinned. “See, isn’t that good to hear? Come on, you can say it too, tell me I was right. Not just about the guilt thing but a _bunch_ of stuff, like how to manifest stuff, and the importance of taking breaks…”

“Absolutely not, Newton, you’re being absurd,’ Hermann scoffed. “And for that matter, I’m not sure I believe…”

“Oh come oooonnnn, just say it. _You were right, Newt, and I was wrong. Not everything is my fault, and you’re the genius who solved the last puzzle all on his own,”_ Newt said in his most deliberately irritating faux-British accent.

“I remain _skeptical_ of your hypothesis, Dr. Geiszler, and I will _not_ parrot your idiotic mantra just to indulge you,” Hermann said, and rolled his eyes.

“I bet I can get you to,” Newt said, sidling closer. “I bet I can annoy you into saying it. Rumor has it I can be _extremely_ annoying when I want to be.”

“Just when you want to be? Perish the thought. I can’t even imagine,” Hermann said dryly, the corner of his lip twitching. 

“You love it,” Newt snickered and said in a sing-song. “You _adore_ it. You _missed_ it. You couldn’t live _without_ it. You— _erk_.”

Hermann looped a finger under the knot of Newt’s skinny tie and dragged him off balance so their faces were inches apart. Hermann paused there, studying Newt’s face with dark eyes. “You know?” he said and tilted his head to the side. “I do believe on that count, at least, you _are_ right.” He closed this distance and captured Newt’s lips with his.

“Ooh, baby, yeah that’s the good stuff,” Newt said, his words muffled between kisses. “I think I just found a new kink, you telling me I’m right is better than dirty talk.”

“Then you’re extremely easy to please.”

“Are you kidding? After all those years of you telling me I’m wrong in the lab for everything short of _breathing_? This is definitely the hardest won kink I’ve ever come by. It’s Pavlovian, man, you telling me I’m right is like catnip, I just wanna…” he inhaled against Hermann’s lips, sucking down his breath before he broke away. “So now that I told you how I got out of there, will you tell me why you were all mini-Hermann when I found you?” 

Hermann gave him a puzzled look. “Mini… what?”

“Mini-Hermann, like, back there when you looked like a kid. You were crying, I could hear it all the way in the Circle, you sounded miserable, man. Were you ok out there? The Precursors said…” Newt frowned and shook his head. “Never mind what they said, most of it was probably just more of my worst fears anyway. I bet you weren’t really stuck in the Drift or anything anyway.” 

Hermann went silent beside him and Newt waited for him to gather his thoughts for whatever he was going to answer. Until the silence stretched, and stretched, and Newt’s suspicion prickled. 

“You _didn’t_ get stuck in the Drift, _right_ Hermann?” 

“I…”

“Hermann!” Newt whipped around to stare aghast. “I thought I told you not to self-destruct behind my back! Drifting is _dangerous_ , dude, that’s how we got in this mess in the first place!”

“Says the man who deliberately got himself _shot_ in the Drift! And it’s not as if I trapped myself on purpose!” Hermann exclaimed. “It was supposed to be the last time, but… s-something went wrong while I was looking for you and then I was trapped in some… some feedback loop. I don’t remember much. More a _feeling_ than anything else, of intense isolation and… loneliness. A memory of the times I realized that I was alone in the world, and that my loved ones would not come back to help me.”

Newt stared as Hermann looked away. He put out a hand, stopping them both in their tracks, and before Hermann could protest he leaned forward and pressed a hand to his face, drawing him close to kiss his cheek. “That’s never going to happen again, ok? I’m going to be there, and even if I can’t, if there isn’t an exit after this, you’ve got people who care about you out there. No more self-destructing. You’ve gotta actually promise me this time you’ll try to be happy.”

“I don’t think I can make that promise, Newton, or fully express how unlikely that is for me if you don’t make it out of this,” Hermann said quietly and met his gaze. “So perhaps it would be best if you keep your promise to be waiting for me when we leave this place, hmm?”

Newt swallowed, seeing the shadow in Hermann’s dark eyes, remnants of the years they still hadn’t really talked about yet. “Ok… ok, I’ll do my best. Christ, I hope we don’t find the _Purgatorio_ at the end of all this. The whole trilogy goes downhill after Virgil takes off.”

_But that would still be better than nothing at all,_ Newt didn’t say, as he eyed the path. This was it, the moment of truth. Time to see if the mental puzzle they had constructed for themselves really was building towards anything, if he really could get out or if it would just be another puzzle and another and another because neither of them could really imagine getting out of here, or being happy. Or maybe he was braindead and this fun little jaunt through imagination was just him tricking himself into thinking he had some control over something there was no control over. 

“It will not be,” Hermann said. His expression was fierce, and frightened, but there was no hesitation when he seized Newt’s hand and squeezed it hard. He looked back up the passage, pulling Newt off balance as he began to walk, so that he almost didn’t hear it when Hermann added under his breath. “It can’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second half of the chapter song: “Spirits” by The Strumbellas was a little too happy to list at the beginning without spoiling the chapter. Though in addition, I spent a lot of time listening to “Go Big or Go Extinct” by Ramin Djawadi during the Precursor face-off. What can I say? It’s a great epic climax song.


	15. To Rebehold the Stars - Hermann

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guide and I into that hidden road  
> Now entered, to return to the bright world;  
> And without care of having any rest
> 
> We mounted up, he first and I the second,  
> Till I beheld through a round aperture  
> Some of the beauteous things that Heaven doth bear;
> 
> Thence we came forth to rebehold the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Sparkle, by RADWIMPS

They continued onward down the path when, without warning, the slant of the road shifted and turned upward. 

“We’ve passed through the center,” Hermann said to Newt in a hushed voice. “Just as in the poem.”

“If this was Journey to the Center of the Earth, we’d be getting monsters soon,” Newt whispered back. “Is it bad that I feel kinda robbed that there weren’t monsters? In the book they got to fly on a _dragon_. I’m just saying, it’s kind of unfair that we got all the crap out of Inferno but none of the cool stuff, like…”

“Newt,” Hermann interrupted him, and fixed him with a _look_ through the gloom. “I should think we’ve had quite enough monsters for one lifetime, hmm?”

“Speak for yourself. I think at this point I’ve earned some _cool_ , not-fascist monsters,” Newt grumbled. 

“I’m not sure I see the appeal either way,” Hermann retorted, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground and the physics-defying shift in the floor as with each step it grew as steeply going upwards as it had been pointing down.

“What? Dude, it is _beyond_ time for me to introduce you to the fine art that is cheesy monster movies, I have been falling down on the job on that one. I mean, I grew up _loving_ those thing, that's my _childhood_ you're disparaging, and if we're gonna be together...”

“One can’t help but note that, given our lives, ‘cheesy monster movies’ fall under _every definition_ of ‘too soon’, Newton.”

“It’s been a year since you guys took them out, right? Plenty of time. And _technically_ the Kaiju were aliens, so we deserve cool aliens too. Ooh, and sexy aliens. Humanity got its Borg encounter out of the way _—_ with our hero getting assimilated by a hive mind, no less _—_ I think we _all_  deserve some sexy green aliens. And Vulcans! You’d fit right in with the Vulcans, Herms!”

“You say that as if it were an insult,” Hermann sniffed. “What exactly is wrong with the Vulcans?”

“Oooh,” Newt spun so he was walking backwards in front of Hermann, grinning in delight. “You had a crush on Mr. Spock _too_ growing up, _didn’t you_? Of _course_ you did. Oh my god, oh my god, how did you end up with _me_ after having a crush on _Spock?_ ” 

“I did not have a crush on Spock!” Hermann sputtered, but felt his ears heat. 

“It’s ok, you can admit it! The cold rationality, the icy reason, I get it, I _beyond_ get it. I mean, Kirk wasn’t exactly my _type_ but he was an inspiration to us all in going to strange places, meeting interesting aliens, and sleeping with them. Legend, right there. And the fact he fell for Spock just means the guy had excellent taste.” Newt sighed wistfully. “We’ve definitely earned sexy aliens at this point. And hey, if the Precursors were out there conquering other worlds, that means there _are_ other worlds out there, right? Other, not shitty worlds that aren’t planet-destroying assholes. We could go to those! We’ve got your rocket fuel, _ooh_ , or we could synthesize it now that the Kaiju are gone. I could help! We could use Jaegers for space exploration! Jaegers, Hermann! It could be like Voltron! You could finally meet Spock! I’ll let you have that one dude, that’s like celebrity exception right there, everyone gets one.”

“For the last time, I was not infatuated with Spock!” Hermann snapped. “The sheer _vanity_ that would require, it would be like staring into a mirror!”

Newt’s eyebrows rose. “Whoa, this one really matters to you, huh? Who was your original series crush, Hermann, come on I know you had one.” He sidled up to Hermann and flipped around so he was hanging over his shoulder without putting weight on his leg, peering into the corner of his eye. Above them the path kept sloping up, to the point where they were practically bent in half to stay upright. 

“… Bones,” Hermann muttered. The corner of his lip quirked and he glanced sidelong at Newt, “I always did prefer my men with doctorates.”

“Ha!” Newt crowed in delight, and planted a sloppy kiss on Hermann’s cheek. “Well babe, I’ve got you covered on that front, because _I’ve_ got—”

“Six, I know,” Hermann sighed. “And I have no _idea_ how you convinced an institution of any repute to allow you to do that.”

“Did I mention that I can be _very_ annoying?” 

“Ah yes, of course. It’s ever so clear now.”

Newt snickered, and fell into step once more beside Hermann. After a moment, he twined his fingers through Hermann’s. Hermann glanced sidelong at him, studying his profile, the energy that flashed in his eyes and buoyed his steps, so at odds with the prone figure in the hospital bed. His heart swelled at the sight, love and relief, and lingering, aching fear that these moments might be their last.  He knew he should say something more. Something besides inane pop culture references and sweet nothings. He should say something about their relationship, and what it had meant to him, remark on how natural it had been to be with Newt once more, and how Hermann had failed them both by not appreciating it before. How it felt as if no time had passed at all when they were together. That never before in his life had it been so easy to converse with another person, and it was always part of how he had known after the Drift that they had a chance, when their arguments became _constructive_ rather than _destructive_ and and even if they weren’t always _nice_ they had always _understood_. 

But if he thought about it now he wasn’t sure he could keep going forward, keep walking, or if he’d break down and beg for yet another break, stealing just one more hour, holing up in that ridiculous hammock and just clutching Newton against him rather than risk that all that waited for him on the other side was the awful silence of Newt’s prone and empty shell forever.

Perhaps there was no future for him except to gaze upon Newt’s comatose body, as even with all their trials, there was nothing mere fantasy could do to overcome biology. Perhaps they would reach the other side and simply be _stuck_ and Newton would always be here, trapped inside his own mind and Hermann would always be outside, and that would be their life. He would Drift whenever their health allowed, just to visit Newt, no different than his daily visits to his cell when the Precursors had still resided within him, swapped for another form. Then it would be two of them side by side, asleep but for the blinking light of the crowns on their heads and he could not help but shudder at the image of their wasting forms, knowing full well that he would do it, he would. Whatever else was out there for him, whatever friends or more like acquaintances he left behind on the other side, they would have to understand.

He knew he was gripping Newton’s hand too tightly, he could feel the small bones grinding beneath his hand, but Newt made no protest, and his grip tightened in return. 

They felt it at the same moment. The wind, changing. 

Hermann and Newt exchanged a look, his eyes wide behind the black glasses, and both began to run. Just as they had dashed into the Shatterdome that day so many years ago, to deliver their breathless, shouted warning about the Breach. Indeed, just as Hermann began to lag, memory of his leg overcoming him even in this hazy place, Newt slowed without looking and put a hand on his back to support him as they raced upward. 

The breeze grew stronger, ruffling their hair, bathing across Hermann’s face and it somehow smelled _fresh_. He had never considered it before, but there was the damp, musty smell of a cave in the tunnels between the Circles and he only noted the difference when it gave way to the warm scent of a summer’s evening, breathing like a sigh down the cavern. 

“This is it,” Newt panted beside him. “You ready, dude?” 

“Very little choice if I’m not,” Hermann grunted. Before them the opening of the cave, racing towards them as they raced forward, brighter than where they were and Hermann found himself holding his breath, grasping Newt’s hand one last time, not daring to look at him as they crossed the threshold, and burst forth...

...Into a well of stars. 

Hermann’s mouth fell open as they stumbled to a halt, and stared up with disbelieving eyes at the wonder before them. They stood on a rough stone plateau, and above the heavens arched like a dome, the stars impossibly bright. Their light was unhindered by any earthly glow, like diamonds spread across velvet. Galaxies swirled, visible to the naked eye against the darkness in flushes of violet, a promise and an invitation, as if whispering, _Come hither, and see what we hold_. 

“Oh… wow,” Newt breathed. 

“Yes, _wow_ ,” Hermann echoed. His head tilted backwards as he took in the sight above. “But now that we’re here, what…?”

“Uh, Hermann?” 

Hermann jerked, heart flying to his throat at the question in Newt’s voice. Newt stared down at his hands, and held them up for Hermann’s inspections. Beyond them, through them, the stars glittered, Newt's form gone translucent as if painted on glass. 

“Newton!” Hermann shouted, and surged forward to grip Newt’s shoulder. “What’s going on, what’s happening to you?” 

“I don’t know, man. But uh, I think… it’s ok?” Newt’s eyes were wild, but as he met Hermann’s gaze a fond grin spread across his face. “Yeah, it’s gonna be ok. Wait for me on the other side?”

Terror pulsed in Hermann’s throat. His hand moved to Newt’s cheek, warm beneath his palm. He could see the stars through Newt as he faded. “I will, but you must be there, darling. Promise me you’ll be there. Promise me you’ll remember.”

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise—”

Hermann pulled Newt forward, crushing their lips together just to _shut him up_. “Promise me!”

“Ok! Ok, I promise!” Newt yelped. The alarm softened from his face and he leaned forward to press their foreheads together and gaze into Hermann’s eyes. “I love you no matter what, got that? No matter what happens! Hermann, I—!” 

Hermann’s stumbled forward, his body passing through the glittering flecks that sparkled in the air where Newt had stood.

"Newton!" He whipped around, shoes scraping on the rough stone beneath his feet, and above him wheeled the endless stars. The shouted name echoed in the air, fading into the night.

Hermann stood alone. The path back down into the earth yawned black, all their trials behind and Hermann clutched his cane, fingers shaking around the grip. Alone. And alone it was alright, with no one there to see as he closed his eyes and let the terrible fear and hope choke him, let the hot tears trickle heedless down his face. He tilted his head up towards the stars and waited. Waited for his world to end. Waited to find out just one more time, one of far too many times, if it hadn’t.

Hermann opened his eyes, staring up through blurred vision at the stars, shining and muddled all the brighter in the utter silence except for his own breathing, as the world dissolved

* * *

Hermann woke to the dimly lit hospital room. The digital clock on the wall read 14:00, only a few hours since he had begun that second, ill-fated Drift. He was propped up by numerous pillows, lying in a different spot than where he had gone under, a thin hospital blanket drawn up to his waist and an IV in his arm. He was clad in the standard issue PPDC t-shirt and sweatpants for the long hours, having given up entirely on presentability in the past frantic days of Drifting, and failing, and Drifting again. What did it matter what others thought of his appearance? It was best to be comfortable, a corner of his mind said, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Newt.

Hermann carefully removed the IV from his arm with familiarity born of long practice, and then the Pons from his head, and set both down on the table beside the bed. Then Hermann went still, his hands folded before him, not daring to turn. He needed to turn, but all he could do for the moment was _breathe_ past the tightness of fear in his throat, to stare down at his own bony wrists and the fine lines of age on the back of his hands that had not been there when Newton last slept in bed beside him. When he closed his eyes, Hermann could see the endless vault of stars.

He took a deep, calming breath that didn’t work, and turned over on his side, keeping his eyes resolutely shut. His hand reached out to find Newt’s, taking it, and rubbing his thumb once over the knuckles, before he dared open them.

Hermann’s body went cold. Then he was scrambling up onto all fours, hovering over Newt and staring into his face, his heart thundering in his chest at the sight of a gleaming sliver of Newt’s eye, open.

“Darling, are you awake?” Hermann whispered.

The tiniest fraction of a movement, as Newt closed his eyes and opened them again, and when he did his gaze tracked up to Hermann. He blinked again.

“The feeding tube, of course, you can’t speak. Blink once for yes, and twice for no. Are you alright? Do you remember what happened? How are you feeling?” Hermann said in a rush. 

Newt looked up at him frankly, and then very deliberately blinked three times. He might as well have spoken, _How am I supposed to answer that with a yes-no system?_

“Of course, of course, my apologies, I…” Hermann drew back and realized his heart was racing so rapidly it felt as if it would burst. “All of that can wait. You need a doctor. I should fetch you a doctor, what was I thinking? Stay here. Pardon, forget I said that. Just stay with me, I will be right back.” Hermann stumbled off his bed, and nearly landed in a heap as he started to run before remembering his cane leaning against the wall. He rounded the bed and almost made it to the door before it struck him. He had to know. Panic welled as he hobbled back to Newt’s side, falling onto the bed as he craned over to catch his eye again. “Newton, do you remember the Circles? Do you remember... us?” 

Newt’s eyes had closed and he opened them again to give Hermann a long, level stare. Then slowly he blinked. Once. 

“Oh thank _God_ ,” Hermann exhaled and bent the rest of the way over the bed to deliver a kiss to Newt’s forehead, the only place not blocked by a wire or tube. Newt’s eyes followed him, crinkling at the corner in a way that might have been fond amusement. 

It hit him. Like impact where the pain doesn’t strike until a few moments later, only there was no pain if one didn’t count that bright, burning thrill in his heart. The sudden dizziness of hyperventilation. 

Newt was awake. 

After a year, Newton was awake. After two years of knowing he was taken. After nearly twelve of having him stolen. He was here. He was himself and those creatures were _gone_. A target the size of a penny, struck from the other side of the universe.

Newt’s eyebrows rose as Hermann gave a thin cry, fingers scrabbling at the sheets until he had Newt’s hand in his. Hermann seized it and brought it to his face. His body shook, and all he could do was clutch the back of Newt’s hand to his lips as if praying. His mouth parted, and firmed again, trembling as words failed him, and all he could do was hold Newt’s hand harder and scrunch his eyes shut as shudders wracked through him in waves. 

His eyes snapped open at a brush against his face, and he looked up to see Newt’s head turned slightly towards him, and his thumb traced weakly against Hermann’s cheek. 

Newt held his gaze, then glanced at the door and back to Hermann. _Doctor?_

“Of course,” Hermann babbled, and gently placed Newt’s hand back on the bed before retreating. He did his best to ignore the wrench in his chest at the sudden distance, as if his body itself feared separation. 

He caught the doorframe, barely able to get his cane fumbled into the right hand before he was racing into the hallway, shouting as he did so with no care at all for who may take offense, “Dr. Geiszler is awake!”

* * *

If he had thought the wait for the surgery to save Newton’s life was bad, this one was all the worse. Before, he had been able to deaden himself, to begin preparation for the inevitable revelation that he had lost Newt forever, and had done his best to burn out the nerve endings before they felt any pain.

The operation to remove Newt from the life support systems was brief by comparison but was made somehow worse by the fact that Hermann could find no such calm, nihilistic or otherwise. The nurses had fussed over him when he first tore out of Newt’s room. Apparently they had found him slumped beside the bed with the Pons back on his head, but otherwise there were few outward signs of his chasing the rabbit, so he had simply been propped up with the usual IV drip beside Newton to awaken on his own, given the danger of removing a subject from the Drift by force. 

Now cleared of their examinations, Hermann could do nothing except wait. His good knee jittered as he sat on the bench outside Newt's hospital room, until a nurse took pity and ordered him away, informing him that he had at _least_ an hour to freshen up, that the operation was routine, and Newt was in no danger. 

Grudgingly, Hermann left to get himself a quick shower and shave back in his quarters and changed from the standard issue PPDC sweatpants and shirt in favor of a simple button-down with a cardigan and slacks. Then he spotted a missed sock on the floor from his prior cleaning session, and of course that had to be dealt with. Then there were the countertops which looked a bit dusty in his absence to be wiped down, the bed smoothed, and before Hermann knew it, his leg was aching fiercely as he did a final whirlwind sweep of the flat. 

When he checked the time, it had only been forty-five minutes.

He stormed the cantina next, loading up on armfuls of snacks and sweets before remembering that in all likelihood Newt would be stuck to liquids for the next few days at least while his throat healed from the feeding tube and his stomach grew accustomed once more to solid food. So Hermann stormed back, replacing all the items. He fetched a sandwich for himself without checking the label as well as a cup of tea, chocolate milk, yogurt, and a sweet custard dish of some kind. Perhaps one would appeal.

Then it was back to his seat outside Newt’s hospital room, where he did his best to distract himself with work, an impossible task when glancing up every ten seconds.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Nurse Chen approached one hour later — which felt like six — and waved to capture his attention. 

“Hello, Dr. Gottlieb? Newton Geiszler is out of surgery now, and I thought we could go over the schedule of his care?” 

Hermann straightened like a shot. “Indeed. Indeed, is he… how bad is it?” Best to know the worst right away, before the painful surge of hope could swallow him. 

Chen smiled gently. “Dr. Geiszler is an unusual case…” Hermann could not prevent a snort of agreement at that one, on _all_ counts.  “… but in this instance that appears to be a positive. There is, as far as can be determined, no cognitive damage, which is unusual after such a deep and extended coma, but that could be a result of his unique circumstances. He was able to fully comprehend and respond to all our questions, and indeed suggested a few of his own. His biggest challenge will be physical recovery for the year spent bedridden. For that, I’ve provided you with a schedule as his primary caregiver during his recovery. These include daily physical therapy sessions for the next six weeks, followed by a reassessment for going forward after that. We’d like to keep him overnight for observation, but as long as you are able to assist in bringing him to and from the physical therapy sessions, we believe we can release him into your care as early as tomorrow. As we understand, your quarters are wheelchair accessible?”

“Yes, of course, fully,” Hermann stuttered, reeling. Tomorrow? And… “A wheelchair? Newton will despise that.”

Chen laughed. “Adult males in particular are often resistant to mobility assistance and therapy. We will be counting on you to keep him on the prescribed schedule.”

“May I see him now?”

“You may,” Chen said, and stepped out of his way. “But please be aware, there are abrasions on his esophagus from the feeding tube so speaking will be difficult for him for at least a day. He insisted on a data pad for written communication in the meantime but can be easily worn out. He does seem very eager to speak.”

Hermann sighed with relief. “That does sound like Newt.”

 

When he hobbled into the room, Newt was sitting up. 

Hermann stopped, unable to process for a moment this simple fact, and the accompanying pang of fear, when the last time Newt had been animated was by creatures filled with malice. He looked different than in the Drift: haggard and pale, his hair lank and stubble covering his jaw. There was a data pad on his lap open to a messaging application. His eyes were closed, and his head tilted back, but he opened them at the sound of the door closing.

“ _Hey_ ,” Newt mouthed, and looked exhausted to even do that much. His finger twitched as if to reach for Hermann, but went to the data pad instead, where there was a typed message written out. He poked weakly at the screen to tilt it in Hermann’s direction. 

-Feel like complete shit. Wanted you to know I’m ok tho. Plz get 10000 kg of ice cream for throat.-

Hermann snorted. “I’m afraid for now all I have is custard, but I’ll be sure to stock up. Was the operation very painful, darling?”

Newt shrugged, fingers twitching over the screen and letting the autocorrect feature fill in where possible. -Wasn’t awesome, but good to get tubes out. I was like that for a YEAR?-

Hermann nodded and went to lean against the bed, leaving the bag of snacks on the floor beside it. “Since the end of the war, yes, which will be a year this month.” His voice roughened at the mention, and Hermann glanced up at fingers tugging on his cardigan. Newt nodded to the place beside him on the bed.

“Are you sure?” Hermann said. 

Newt gave him a _look_. 

“Oh, fine,” Hermann muttered, and once his shoes were off he moved to climb on top of the covers beside Newt, only to receive another eye-roll and a nod that he was to join him underneath. Hesitation over being seen was met with yet another pointed look, and by the time Hermann had taken his place side by side with Newt—who was clad in a simple hospital gown—Newt had wrapped around Hermann’s waist like a creeping vine and nudged him to lie flat. Each movement was weak, painfully so, but once settled Newt glanced up at him from where he had burrowed against Hermann’s chest. 

Hermann’s heart gave a pang, a tangible _ache_ at the sight. The hospital room was quiet, there was no one to disturb them, and Hermann knew that if he dwelled too long on the feeling of Newt warm in his arms, he would lose what little composure he had. He reminded himself instead that Newt was awake, safe as they had been in decades, as one could be after their ordeal, and as quiet as Hermann was ever likely to see him again. 

But when Newt released a deep, contented sigh, Hermann had to swallow hard and stare up at the fluorescent hospital lights to not give in to tears after all. He was sick to death of crying and besides, what more was there to weep over?

Hermann felt a tap on his arm and looked down to see Newt scratching out a message on the datapad. 

-Don’t wanna sleep. Sleeping sucks. Talking sucks. Wanna watch a movie?-

“Just like old times?” Hermann murmured. During the first months in medical and then in their shared quarters, they had found themselves with a workload neither had experienced in years: none at all. Even writing their paper about the closure of the Breach had been more to fill the hours, and sprouted from their professional pride as much as from any sort of official request. Along the way, they had introduced themselves to a decade’s worth of movies and documentaries they’d missed while fighting the end of the world. 

Newt’s eyes flickered down and to the side as he bit his lip, and Hermann’s gut clenched as he realized his error. Of course, Newton had little memory of that time. It was so easy to forget when curled up beside him in a bed, even after all these years.

Then Newt’s eyebrows shot up and his lips parted. He looked up at Hermann, aghast. “Holy _shit,”_ he rasped, his voice barely above a painful-sounding squeak. He winced, hand flying to his throat, but his other reached out to tug at Hermann’s shirt. He began to point frantically at his head, then scrambled for the data pad, flicking the key to write in all capital letters: 

-DID WE ALREADY BINGE BLUE PLANET?????-

Hermann frowned. “I can hardly be expected to remember the name of every single nature documentary you subjected me to Newton, it was _years_ …” his breath caught, “…ago.”

His gaze shot to Newt’s face and as their eyes met, Newt’s grin broadened until it threatened to split his face. He began to tap rapidly at the data pad, his fingers shaking from effort and exhaustion. 

-WE WATCHED STAR TREK TOO. AND A BUNCH OF THE NEW JAEGER FLICKS. THEY WERE TERRIBLE. AND NO DUCKING MONSTER MOVIES, R U KIDDING ME??-

“If twelves years after the Breach was closed is _too soon_ to watch the glorification of monsters invading our world then I can assure you, Newton, _within the same month_ was as well,” Hermann retorted, but the realization was slowly dawning, and his heart sped up as he searched Newt’s face, and found the same realization building there.

-DUDE I THINK GETTING THE NEURAL LOAD OFF SHOOK MY BRAIN UP?!?!?-

“Newton,” Hermann whispered. “Are you…?” 

Newt surged up to kiss him, cutting Hermann off so the word came out a muffled mess: _remembering?_

Newt laughed against his lips, a breathy squeaking sound that nevertheless made Newt wince in pain. His body shook, and he was so small and shrunken compared to his former bloom of health as a younger man, but the light in his eyes was the most startlingly _alive_ Hermann had seen him in so long it left him choked.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Hermann said fiercely as he broke the kiss, searching Newt’s face. 

Newt gaped, and began to type furiously before flipping the data pad towards Hermann with a glare: -I’VE BEEN AWAKE FOR MAYBE AN **HOUR** AFTER BEING IN A **COMA** FOR A **YEAR.**  MY HEAD IS FUZZY. WHAT DO U WANT FROM ME???-

Hermann stared. Then his face creased into an answering grin and his shoulders began to shake as he laughed. Relief washed through him, dizzying and euphoric, and with no words to encapsulate it he made do with kissing Newt once more and drawing him tight against him. “I thought... I thought for certain they were gone for good, that we'd have no choice but to make new memories,” he murmured into Newt’s hair. 

Newt sighed, and Hermann shifted to allow his hands free to type another message out. -I thought u made it all up to trick me into liking u back. Glad ur not a creepy stalker.-

Hermann gaped and swatted Newt on the arm. “You cheeky bastard!” 

Newt cackled and pressed back against Hermann’s shoulder. His eyes shone, and a giddy grin tugged at the corner of his lips. But his fingers weren’t typing the next message, they were scrolling through the data pad's library of films.

“Godzilla?” Hermann said flatly. 

“You _agreed,_ ” Newt rasped, and winced in pain at speaking, then nudged Hermann with a look that could only be described as “puppy-dog eyes” as he switched back to the datapad. -We dated for a **year** and I didn't make you watch it. You **owe** me.-

“I made no such agreement,” Hermann sniffed. “In fact, I believe I can say with perfect confidence that it is _still_ very much _too soon_.” The puppy-dog eyes intensified. This man was going to be the death of him. Hermann sighed, “But I suppose if it matters so much to you, I owe you this one time. You are feeling poorly, after all.”

Newt grinned triumphantly, switched back to the video player, and smashed the play button before burrowing back against Hermann’s chest with a contented sigh that was almost worth it in itself. Hermann could not help but steal glances down at him. Newt's eyelids drooped, it was clear exhaustion weighed at him. His body was overtasked even just lying there, after its time spent inert, and typing out the messages was only slightly less draining than straining his damaged throat. So Hermann bit back all the thousands of questions that rose in his mind. What did Newt remember, was it all there at once or was it a jumble? Had he _really_ thought Hermann would make up their year together in some demented bid to win Newt’s affection through subterfuge? Would that have  _worked?_

Instead, he focused on the opening credits as they rolled, grainy black and white, and Hermann remarked in surprise, “The original? I thought you would prefer that dreadful 90's remake.”

Newt clapped a hand to his heart and gave Hermann a look of pure horror. “ _Slander!_ ” he wheezed. He snuggled back down again, and with a sly grin wheezed, _“_ It's not 'dreadful'... Movie marathon, 90's remake is next. _”_

Hermann rolled his eyes, and settled back against the pillow, tugging Newt closer as the film rolled on. The questions could wait. Even the memories and all they meant could wait. They had time now, time to watch tasteless monster movies if they put a smile on Newt’s face, time to sit quietly side by side and say nothing at all. Hermann’s fingers found their familiar place as he settled in to watch, tracing the pattern of Newt’s tattoos as he had a hundred times in those months of intimacy long ago that were no longer as lost to them both as he had once feared. A time that felt at once like a century ago, and none at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go. Thank you for coming on this journey with me! If you have a moment, please consider leaving a comment!


	16. Paradiso - Newt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like the geometer, who gives himself  
> wholly to measuring the circle, nor,  
> by thinking, finds the principle he needs;  
> ev’n such was I at that new sight. I wished  
> to see how to the Ring the Image there  
> conformed Itself, and found therein a place;  
> but mine own wings were not enough for this;  
> had not my mind been smitten by a flash  
> of light, wherein what it was willing came.  
> Here power failed my high imagining;  
> but, like a smoothly moving wheel, that Love  
> was now revolving my desire and will,  
> which moves the sun and all the other stars.  
>  _Paradiso_ \- Dante Alighieri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: This chapter contains explicit sexual content.
> 
> Song: "I Don't Wanna Be Sad" by Simple Plan

When awareness trickled back to Newt, his first thought was that he was warm, and way, way too comfortable to worry about anything like moving. The second was that his face was sticky, so he was gonna have to anyway, because when he cracked an eye open he saw that his cheek was lying in a puddle of his own drool.

His third realization was that he had fallen asleep on Hermann’s chest, so the drool wasn’t on his pillowcase but actually spreading over the loose PPDC t-shirt Hermann had switched into to sleep.

 _Whoops,_ Newt thought, and shifted to scrub the spot dry before Hermann could notice, only to flinch as his arm flopped down before it could move an inch. Oh yeah, coma. Muscle atrophy. Lots and lots of physical therapy in his immediate future. Every movement was like trying to push through wet concrete, and his throat was on fire from having the tubes removed the day before. He swallowed experimentally anyway, and winced, unsurprised to find that his vocal cords still felt like they’d been scraped over asphalt, even if the pain wasn’t _quite_ as bad as yesterday.

A clock on the wall above them read 0700 and the data pad sat abandoned on Hermann’s stomach, the screen blacked out. They’d made it about halfway through the 2016 Godzilla, the big budget one that went straight to video because it was deemed “in poor taste” to release worldwide after, y’know, actual Kaiju started showing up. All in all, not a bad movie night, and Hermann had even given up on his theatrical sighing and eye-rolling about an hour in, a victory of its own, given how much sighing and eye-rolling had gone into resisting Newt’s attempts at luring him into a Godzilla marathon twelve years ago.

Oh right, then there was actually _remembering_ twelve years ago. Newt stopped his ineffective scrubbing at the drool spot at the thought, that and his body gave out from exhaustion. The memories were… weird to have back. Good, definitely good, and one good part was how it made his head felt less lopsided and out of sync the way it had when he was under the Precursors’ control, at least when he wasn’t being forcibly blacked out. _Weird_ how everything made so much more sense when he didn’t have whole chunks of time missing from his memory.

A lot of what he’d got back wasn’t all that scandalous either, even the stuff with Hermann and him being an ‘item’  and their slow, dweeby collapse into intimacy. Back when their joint recovery from their Drift with Otachi’s baby had turned into making out at every opportune moment, like the horny twenty-somethings they _really_ should have been when they first hooked up, if only they’d gotten their shit together back during the letter days. For all their super impressive combined genius, they’d still been too goddamn stupid to actually say they loved one another. Being a pair of socially disastrous nerds had a way of doing that, though for most people that was usually without the whole “alien possession and attempted destruction of the world” thing as an unintended consequence of not getting those three little words out there.

It was less that Newt had a whole batch of new memories and more that his favorite daydreams made a lot more sense now. He’d had a _pretty active_ fantasy life during those rare moments alone in the dark in his Shanghai apartment, when the Precursors had deigned to grant him a break from their plan and a bit of privacy for the night. It wasn’t like they’d let him leave the bedroom, or do anything else that might involve reclaiming a second of control to call for help. Since he couldn’t escape outward, he had escaped inward.

Newt had always been a genius, and a musician, and an artist with a scalpel if he could say so himself, and all that meant a certain level of creativity. But he’d assumed it was the intense isolation that made him _really_ outdo himself on the vividness of his fantasies on night’s like that. Really detailed stuff, like the exact texture of Hermann’s dorky sweater-vest if Newt ever got the chance to pull it up over his head while sucking kisses up his throat. Or the smell of the pancakes he would make the next morning, because he’d been planning the breakfast he’d bring to Hermann in bed if he ever got him there for _ages_ . He had almost been able to _feel_ the rabbity pounding of his heart in the breakfast fantasy, equal parts the thrill that painted a silly grin on his face of, _holy shit we had sex_ , and terror that he was going to fuck it up somehow in the aftermath, and so: breakfast. He was a gentleman like that, after all.

Sure, at first it had been the sexier daydreams-that-were-actually-memories that Newt revisited the most while he was under the Precursors’ control, it wasn’t like he was getting any, and they didn’t give a shit about indulging their puppet’s “bodily needs” if they weren’t life threatening. But as the years dragged on the fantasies had gotten perversely _domestic_ . Watching movies on the couch together (real), stealing food off each other’s plates (real), getting ready for the day together (real), and even ( _horrified gasp_ ) showering together without any sexy times at all (real, and worth revisiting once he could stand again).

He could see why they had taken those memories, and with them the fact he and Hermann _had_ resolved about a decade’s worth of what must have been truly obnoxious sexual tension. To have wanted Hermann so _bad_ after they Drifted, only to be met with silence and disinterest, the inevitable conclusion that nothing had changed between them by being in each other’s heads? That Hermann didn’t even care if Newt up and left one day for a soulless corporate job thousands of miles away? It had been lighter fluid on the resentment burning inside him, his despair at the realization of how alone he was in the world that the Precursors could take him, and change so much about him and no one would _notice_. Why fight so hard, why fight _at all_ , if there was nothing and no one to go back to, and even the person he missed the most didn’t give a shit about him anyway?

If he had those memories—the movie nights and lazy mornings, the shared quarters in the Hong Kong Shatterdome covered with his posters and Hermann’s books, and the feeling of having someone to come _back_ to every day—he would have fought harder. He would have fought like _hell_ , spat in their goddamn faces, _clawed_ his way free with all he had to get that life back. They _had_ to take those memories away from him if they wanted five minutes of peace in his head, let alone the contents of his brain and years of time to enact their plan.

Newt tilted his head up to study Hermann from the unflattering, wrong-cell-phone-camera angle of below his chin and up into his nostrils. Hermann frowned even his sleep, and there were lines on his forehead that hadn’t been there ten years ago. Miraculously, there wasn’t a trace of gray, unlike Newt. Hermann’s hair was black as shoe polish, and maybe that was his secret. There were other signs of stress though: bags under his eyes, and the downward turn of his lips as if the guy hadn’t smiled in years.

He was going to have to fix that. In fact, it was going to be Newt’s _job_ in life to fix that and get Hermann smiling again. That, and synthesizing Kaiju blood for rocket fuel so Hermann and the rest of humanity could finally go to space in style, but that was practically the same thing. He’d make a point system for those smiles, and get the lifetime high score.

Newt’s shifting must have done it, because Hermann snorted awake, and glanced down at Newt laying against his chest. Surprise and confusion flickered over Hermann’s face, then melted into an aching, vulnerable relief that made Newt kinda want to blush and hide his face. Hermann wiped the back of his hand over his eyes, lingering on the underside, and with a sniff looked back down.

“I see we’ve made it through the night without any disasters. A rare occurrence,” Hermann said, the corner of his lip twitching upward. Smile number one, success! First day on the job and Newt was rocking it. Apparently, all he had to do was be there when Hermann woke up in the morning, and he was planning to do that anyway. “Are you ready to go home, darling?”

Newt’s breath caught. Oh right, he’d almost forgotten. Home. The apartment glimpsed in the Seventh Circle, with its windows overlooking the sea, decorated with the scattered remnants of Newt’s life that Hermann had so painstakingly collected and saved without even knowing that they needed to be saved. Just like him.

Newt swallowed, and when he nodded silently it wasn’t because he couldn’t speak because of the tubes, but because there was a lump in his throat. Hermann’s smile broadened in responses, and privately Newt thought through the soppy things that did to his heart, _Ehehe, point number two._

And then Hermann looked down at himself. “Newton, did you drool all over me last night?”

Newt froze. “Uh... no?”

“...Disgusting,” Hermann sighed, but the corner of his lip quirked and he pulled Newt against him, chest to chest (Newt could feel the damp spot) and after a long moment of studying his face, as if not quite sure what to do with him, Hermann kissed Newt on the forehead.

* * *

There was some paperwork to fill out, warnings about not putting too much stress on his body, a whole life alert bracelet thing in case something happened to him up in Hermann’s apartment, _blahblahblah_... But finally they were checking _out_ when Newt got the best surprise of his day so far _and it wasn’t even noon yet._

He got a wheelchair.

Scratch that, way better, he got _an electric wheelchair_ , because apparently, his arms were still too noodley to push himself anyway.

“I’m a cyborg,” Newt rasped the minute he was seated.

Hermann raised an eyebrow. “It’s not an embedded system, so it hardly counts as a cybernetic enhancement.”

“Wrong, dude,” Newt wheezed, and actually it wasn’t much fun to talk but the more he did it the more his throat cleared so, eh, _worth it_ . “My body has a disability that we’re correcting with electronics, _ergo_ ,” he winced, swallowing past the pain in his throat to declare, “I am a cyborg.”

“A temporary cyborg, then,” Hermann sighed. “Once you’ve completed your physical therapy, there’s no inherent reason you won’t regain full mobility.”

“Yeah, but then I won’t be able to do _this_ ,” Newt said, and tapped the joystick in a circle. The wheelchair did a 360, and when he came back to facing Hermann, Newt winked. “Pretty sexy, huh?”

“I can barely restrain myself,” Hermann said dryly.

“Yeah that’s right, you know it.”

“You are taking this surprisingly well,” Hermann observed after he signed the last form and they made their way out of the hospital wing. The chair didn’t move very fast, so it set a comfortable pace for Hermann to match without straining himself, and honestly, Newt could get used to this, walking was for losers. Maybe he could hack the chair later and add rocket boosters or something if he ever needed a change of pace. For science, of course. “I expected you to despise any limitations on your movement.”

“This isn’t a limitation, dude, this is freedom,” Newt said. “Without this, I… _ack_ , damn _throat… Hrm,_ I’d still be stuck in a bed and let me tell you Herms, I am so fucking _sick_ of beds right now.”

“You weren’t conscious for the time you spent in that bed,” Hermann reminded him.

“Yeah, but I can _feel it_ ,” Newt said. “ _Newtus Geiszlerius_ _Rex_ , even in a state about as alert as your average house plant, requires a minimum of sunshine, fresh air, and mental stimulation including, but not limited to, impromptu musical performance, exploring the bleeding edge of scientific innovation, and when possible, a captive audience. None of which, I promise you, I was getting in that bed for the last year. My body can tell, man, I was wasting away in there.”

“At least your voice seems to have improved,” Hermann observed.

“Oh, it still feels like gargling glass, but I knew you’d pine without my dulcet tones,” Newt said, batting his eyelashes and deliberately let his ragged voice shriek along an edge that could only be described as _Nails on Chalkboard in D Minor_.

“Is it too late to induce another coma?”

“Hey!” Newt squawked. “Too soon, buddy!”

“Oh, you mean like the films you compelled me to watch until two in the morning, in which monsters rise from the deep to lay waste to cities for the amusement of a short-sighted 20th century audience? _That_ kind of too soon?” Hermann said pleasantly.

“Yeah! Yeah I’d say...” Newt hacked, “...I’d say less than _twelve hours_ after I woke up is a little too soon!” Newt gave a huff and pushed his wheelchair into high gear to take the left corridor at a fork in the hallway. This got him about two steps ahead of Hermann at a motivated crawl before he caught up, at barely more than a brisk walk.

“As amusing as it would be to let you wander the Shatterdome for a few hours, the personnel quarters, and my flat, are that way,” Hermann said, pointing his cane down the opposite hallway.

Newt leveled his best glare, and pushed the wheelchair into reverse, riding backwards in the opposite direction down the correct hallway. Hermann stopped and simply let him go, his expression bemused.

“Are you planning to look behind you?” Hermann called after him.

“No _p_ e,” Newt said, maintaining eye contact the whole way. Rearview mirrors. That was going to be his first installment, even before the rocket boosters. “Gotta keep an eye on my nemesis.”

“Then I should warn you that the wheelchair ramp is to the left of the stairwell you’re about to reach in approximately twenty seconds.”

Newt let the wheelchair slide to a halt. Then he held out his hand stiffly towards Hermann, whose smile was smug ( _ha, point three!)_ as he approached Newt and took it, and since Newt was such a gentleman, he raised Hermann’s hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles to show he wasn’t really mad. Because he was also a bit of a bastard, he made sure it was a wet kiss.

In the memory, they had approached Hermann’s apartment from the rooftop, so Newt had no idea where they were in the Shatterdome until the door was front of them. Hermann moved to it from Newt’s side with quick, eager steps, typing out the lock code on the keypad, then gesturing back behind him for Newt to follow.

It was only then that Newt realized he was frozen. And that he hadn’t been this fucking scared of a door since before the Ninth Circle, when he sat waiting for Hermann to come back, and realized he needed to get shot if they were going to have any chance of breaking out.

Sure he’d been wrong that time, but this was an entirely different situation, and an entirely different kind of fear. A happy fear, in a way, a precarious fear, a complete terror of the unknown this-can’t-possibly-be-happening, too-good-to-be-true-so-it-must-not-be primal panic as the door opened with a click beneath Hermann’s fingers and sunlight poured into the hallway.

Hermann stepped aside to hold the door open, and only then caught sight of Newt’s expression.

“Are you alright, darling?” Hermann’s brow furrowed in concern.

“Y-Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Newt laughed. His hand hovered at the joystick. Beyond Hermann he could just glimpse the corner of one of his action figures. Knifehead, just where it had been in the vision. He swallowed. His hand fell to the side. “Shit. No. No, I’m not alright. What if I fuck this up, man? Maybe it _is_ too soon to live together again. What if I never got out of my head at all and we’re still back in one of the Circles? There’s just no way this can be happening. There’s no way you could be this good to me after all the shit I put you through, or that I could be getting anything back after what they did. There’s no way this is _real_ , and if I go through that door I feel like I’m going to find out it _isn’t_ real because if it _is_ , I think my heart’s gonna explode, and if it _isn’t_ I’d just rather drop dead on the spot because I can’t take it anymore, and I…”

He was panting and only realized his eyes had gone unfocused when Hermann was suddenly before him, kneeling on his good leg to meet Newt’s eye. He placed his hand on Newt’s chest, pressing hard over the heart but in a way that was weirdly soothing, like a tight hug. “Newton, are you having a panic attack?”

“No, no I’m not, uh, maybe?” Newt wheezed. “It just sorta feels like there’s acid pumping through my veins and the world’s about to end, but hey that’s a normal Tuesday for us, right?”

“Newton,” Hermann murmured. He kept the pressure firm and steady over Newt’s heart, and some of the awful pounding eased. “It’s alright. I understand.”

“You do?” Newt squeaked.

“Yes. I’m also frightened,” Hermann said gently. “I am frightened every day at the thought of losing you again, and in this very moment I am frightened that I won’t be enough for you. I am frightened, irrationally, that this indeed a dream, _because_ I have dreamt of this moment so many times. But we aren’t dreaming right now. I understand that reality is less clear to you with the time you spent imprisoned in your own mind, so let me be your guide in this respect if not others: we are out. We are awake. I promise you this is real.”

“Ok… ok,” Newt sniffled.

“We do not have to go into that room if you don’t want to, but I can also promise you this, Newton, there’s nothing to fear in there. It’s my home. It’s our home if you’d like it to be, and I’d very much like to share with you, but if for any reason it is not a welcoming place, we will make other arrangements. Including a…a space of your own, if you wish it.” Hermann searched Newt’s face, then his jaw tightened as he looked away. “I’m not sure you know this, but you _do_ have a PPDC pension accruing interest, as well as accumulated royalties from your past academic publications. You are not without the means to be independent if that is your wish.”

“No, I don’t want to live alone. That’s not what I mean,” Newt said. The soothing lilt of Hermann’s accent when talking about something as boring as his _pension_ was helping to calm the crazy pounding in his temples and chest. Newt sucked in another deep breath. “Though I’m _pretty_ sure I—they, had some _serious_ blood money racked up from working for Shao. What, uh, what happened to that?”

“Ah,” Hermann said, as if embarrassed. “Those assets were frozen, and then, _hrmm…_ confiscated. The majority went to charities supporting the victims of the attacks, with a small portion—a _very_ small portion—going to your legal defense and medical care before I assumed those myself.”

Newt released an explosive gasp of relief. “Holy shit. Good. That’s… good. I don’t want it.” The thought alone made his skin crawl, of having to decide what to do with _anything_ left over from his time with them. One more reason to be glad that his prison of an apartment got firebombed, because if the Precursors hadn’t, Newt probably would have set it on fire himself and gotten himself thrown in jail for arson. Which brought up another point. “Do people, uh, ‘know’ about what happened to me, with the whole…?” He pointed vaguely at his head. “Or does everyone just think I’m an asshole?”

Hermann’s gaze flickered back over his shoulder to the open door of the apartment, probably because it would be way more private for a talk like this, but then settled back facing Newt. “Few people outside the PPDC know the full story. There were rumors of your involvement in the attacks that day, but they were localized to the Moyulan Shatterdome and to the Shao Industries headquarters. We managed to discredit any extent accounts as the sort of hysterical conspiracy theory that tends to sprout up around celebrities. You are, after all, fairly renowned for your role in closing the Breach. It would have been a blow to the world to believe you had ‘switched sides’, so to speak, or been otherwise subverted, but that wasn’t the only concern in ensuring that information remained classified. The PPDC couldn’t risk word getting out that it was possible to Drift with a Kaiju brain and thus achieve regular contact with the Anteverse. Especially not on the eve of an invasion, given the number of remaining Kaiju cultists and the simply insane who might be out there.”

“Ok, sure, they had to cover their ass, I can believe that. But I was on life support, people were taking _care_ of me when they could have just tossed me down a hole or, Christ, shot me on the spot,” Newt countered. His mouth was getting dry, which exacerbated the pain in his throat, but he had to know. “How could the PPDC be sure I wasn’t actually the bad guy?”

Hermann sighed. “It took some convincing. You’re right, there was some question of whether you should be prosecuted as an enemy agent or a traitor. _But,_ given that the Precursors made no secret of their presence once they were discovered, and seemed to enjoy gloating over the fact they had stolen you from under our noses, it _was_ possible to prove that you were as much a victim as the Shao Industry drone pilots, and that you warranted similar clemency and treatment rather than punishment. The defense took the angle that you were, in essence, a prisoner of war under the Precursors, rather than a mastermind of their plan. Your PPDC record and the part you played in closing the Breach went a long way in making that case, as did the testimony of your former colleagues, in particular, Dr. Liwen Shao and Marshal Mori.”

“Shao? _Mako?_ ” Newt’s head was spinning already but at Mako’s name everything _stopped_ and he blinked rapidly as his throat closed and he squeaked out, “She’s _alive_?”

Hermann started. “Good God, you didn’t know? I must have mentioned it at some point while we were in the Drift!”

“ _No!_ ” Newt shrieked. His throat seared with pain, but he barely felt it. “No you _didn’t_ mention. Holy shit, holy _fuck_ , dude!” He reached out blindly to grab Hermann’s hand, squeezing it in a death grip as he began to shake. “How could you not tell me Mako’s alive when I thought the Precursors used me to _kill_ her?”

“It simply didn’t occur to me! The matter was classified until after the invasion began while she recovered, I didn’t… no, that’s right. We did tell you. Or rather, Marshal Pentecost told the Precursors in order to frighten them.” Hermann’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Newton, I don’t always know what information you were privy to under their control, and besides that, there’s been two years’ worth of events for you to catch up on!”

“ _Yeah?_ ” Newt grated. “You know what, Hermann? You and me? We’re gonna have a really _long talk_ about everything I missed, and we’re going to start at the _beginning_ and you’re not gonna leave _anything out_ because boy do we have some _time_ on our hands now. So you might as well get comfortable and I dunno, take up knitting or something because I have _questions._ Questions like how the fuck could you _forget_ to tell me that Mako is alive?!”

“It was an oversight!”

Newt held the glare, squeezing Hermann’s hand until some of the pain in his throat eased and his eyes weren’t watering as much anymore. “Shao helped too?”

Hermann sighed in relief at the subject change. “Liwen and I worked together closely during the initial attack, and then during the invasion. I daresay we became close friends. She was the only other high ranking witness who could testify regarding the Precursor’s control over you that day, and she very _graciously_ paved the way for your name to be cleared for your actions at her company. We owe her a great deal.”

“She’s a private sector, military industrial complex merchant of _death_ ,” Newt hissed. “I’ve been protesting people like her since I could walk!”

“… I was thinking of inviting her over for dinner?” Hermann hazarded. “Once you’ve recovered?”

“We’ll talk about it.”

“I may have already set a date?” Hermann winced. Newt’s mouth dropped open in outrage. “Two months from now! She’s a busy woman, Newton, her schedule is fixed for years in advance. I couldn’t bloody well inconvenience her for a mere social call!”

“You can inconvenience her!” Newt said, and would have thrown up his hands if his arms weren’t jelly. “Inconvenience her every day, it’ll mean fewer Jaegers being produced for _civilian_ _police forces_.”

“She could be of use for your idea to develop Jaegers for space exploration,” Hermann reminded him. “And she is a dear friend. I had been looking forward to seeing her again, _but_ if you are truly against it, I can arrange to meet her on my own time and not in our home.”

Newt’s eyes narrowed, and he jabbed a finger weakly at Hermann. “You’re on thin ice, pal. …Ugh, _fine_ , you can invite my evil ex-boss over for dinner.”

Hermann beamed and _ugh_ , that was four smile points, some of these were going to be harder than he realized. “And you promise you will not deliberately antagonize her?”

“No promises, no lies,” Newt said, doing his best to maintain his glare but Hermann just looked so _happy_ … He hung his head. “ _Yes_ , I’ll be good. And I’ll even thank her for clearing my name, even though I _think_ that just makes us even for ten years of corporate hell.”

“It’s still two months away,” Hermann reminded him.

“Hmph.”

“Newton?”

“ _What?_ ”

Hermann nodded towards the door. “Are you… do you want to go inside?”

A fresh surge of fear pumped through Newt’s heart, an echo of the threatening panic attack. But the thought that he’d have to have dinner with _Liwen Shao_ in his own damn home in a couple months meant that maybe this wasn’t some perfect, Candy Land  _Paradiso_ where all his wildest dreams would come true until he woke up back in the Shanghai penthouse with the light of Alice’s tank pulsing around him. You really couldn’t have everything.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go,” Newt said, and got an idea. “Here, sit on my lap.”

“I’m perfectly capable of walking the three steps to my own flat,” Hermann scoffed.

“I know, but it’s a threshold thing. It’ll be like we got married, come on,” Newt said, tugging at Hermann’s cuff with his fingers, which was about as much muscle strength as he could manage.

“We’re _not_ married, Newton,” Hermann reminded him.

“Come on, we’re _a little bit_ married. We’ve known each other, what, half our lives now? _And_ we’ve banged whenever evil aliens didn’t get in the way,” Newt said, and tugged again, and at Hermann’s continued expression of reluctance, whined, “Come ooonnnn.”

“I’d crush you.”

“It’s three steps, dude, you just said it yourself. Indulge me. It’ll be fun.”

Hermann sighed but began, very gingerly, to maneuver his cane so he could take the seat. “If you drop me it’s bad luck, you realize?”

“Oh no, bad luck, good thing we’ve never had any of that,” Newt drawled, and tugged on Hermann’s shirt so he fell the rest of the way into his lap. It _might_ have driven the wind out of his lungs—Hermann was a skinny guy, but after the coma Newt was making day-old kittens look like heavyweight champions—but he only turned slightly blue, so it was fine.

“I’m crushing you, I know it,” Hermann said over his shoulder. “And why exactly did I agree to be the bride in this scenario? It’s _my_ flat!”

“We can switch the minute you’re up for carrying me, babe. They’re outmoded gender roles anyway, so who cares,” Newt squeaked, and nudged the joystick forward with his finger. “Engage.”

The electric wheelchair shuddered and strained its way forward like The Little Engine That Was Desperately Reconsidering Its Capabilities, hesitated at the lip of the doorway, and after a breathless moment of anticipation, inched over the divide and they were inside the apartment.

“Yaaaay,” Newt wheezed. “Ok, you gotta get off me now.”

Hermann huffed, and rose from Newt’s lap and back onto his feet with about as much grace as a turtle rolling off its shell, then strode further in to the sun-soaked apartment Newt had glimpsed only in dreams. The posters were there, and the other action figures, though there was a stray sock peaking out from beside the hamper which hadn’t been there in the vision. An unacceptable level of clutter, simply scandalous.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna cry again,” Newt rasped. “Shit. Can you hand me Knifehead? I just wanna…”

Hermann shot him a baffled look, but took the Knifehead action figure from the shelf and placed it in Newt’s lap. As soon as it was there, Newt wrapped his arms around it and _squeezed_. It was a plastic figure, not a plush, and the name said it all: it was jagged, unhuggable, and kinda sharp, but just having it back in his hands… It was something he’d thought gone forever that was totally and unmistakably _his_ , a relic of who he was that the Precursors would never let him display as some mixture of maintaining his _dignity_ for Shao Industries and possibly as a torture of its own. Holding the figurine again was enough to make the tightness in his throat ease and hey, Newt had managed the wave this time without crying. He was so proud.

Except when he looked up, _Hermann_ was crying. Not loud or anything, he wasn’t red faced or drippy. Hermann was the kind of guy who could pull off the ‘elegant single tear’ look in a way Newt never could, and he was doing it now. It trickled down his cheek, glinting in the sunlight, and caught at the corner of his wide lips. Hermann didn’t seem to notice, only stared at the figurine in Newt’s lap until he caught Newt looking at him in return.

“Apologies,” Hermann said, and turned to wipe the back of his hand against his face. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“I mean, I could guess?” Newt hazarded.

“I... it’s simply that…” Hermann said thickly. “There were times I thought I’d never see this.”

“A grown man reuniting with his action figures. It’s a touching reunion, I know. Powerful stuff.”

Hermann snorted, and finished wiping his face before fixing Newt with a fond but long-suffering glare. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I know,” Newt said, and resisted the urge to fidget under that gaze by nodding towards the room. “So…uh, are you going to give me the grand tour?”

Hermann raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You’ve already seen this room in the vision, and I’m afraid there’s not much more to add. I know it’s not a patch on what you’ve been accustomed to, but this _is_ a military base, after all, and there’s only so much…”

He stopped at the sight of Newt shaking his head as hard as his wasted muscles would allow. “No no no, that is _not_ what I meant. Didn’t you hear me before? This place is _heaven_ , you have no idea how much…” he took a deep breath before his throat could tighten again. “Seriously, if I never see the inside of a penthouse again, it will be too soon. I just want to see this place up close, y’know? For _real_ and not in some dream bubble. I need to see that it’s…that it’s really here?”

There was a flicker of what might have been grief, quickly masked, over Hermann’s face, and he nodded in understanding, and placed a hand on Newt’s shoulder. “Of course.”

It was hardly a long tour. The room was clearly meant as a single officer’s quarters, as it was about the size of two normal personnel studios stuck together, the privileges of rank and all that. The kitchen constituted one long wall opposite the windows and the bed at the far end. Hermann’s desk faced out the window and was covered with books lying beside a dormant holo-projector. On the square support pillar beside it hung a framed picture: Salvador Dali, _Canto I._ Newt had to do a double-take as they wheeled past the desk when he saw the titles of the books piled high up Hermann’s desk: T.S. Eliot, William Carlos Williams, Dickinson, Frost, Yeats, and Plath. And at the top a thin black volume with gold lettering on the spine: Dante Alighieri, _The Inferno_.

“Working back through the canon, huh?” Newt said.

“I had neglected it for some thirty years,” Hermann murmured, and selected _Inferno_ from the pile, turning it over in his hands. “It felt time to see if poetry held answers where science had failed. I suppose some turn to religion in such times, but I could not imagine a God that was anything but distant and uncaring, not after all that humanity has suffered these past years. I felt as if for all my work and sacrifices, I was the one left with nothing. I was alone in the dark, in the shadowed forest...”

“For the straightforward path was lost,” Newt murmured. He put Knifehead on the desk and reached out to entangle his fingers through Hermann’s.

Hermann nodded. “I should have recognized sooner that it was Dante with whom I felt the closest kinship, with the story of a man who had lost the one he loved, and wandered alone beset by beasts until he found a guide who would help him face the demons that came from beneath his feet. It was my arrogance to think I had any answers of my own to give.” Hermann went silent, then squeezed Newt’s fingers in return. “What, no smart reply for that one? I should think I left myself quite open.”

“…Nah,” Newt said. “I mean, you are arrogant, don’t get me wrong, but I like that. You saved the world a bunch of times with just your brain, right? And you had the good taste—if not exactly the good _sense_ —to fall for me. I think you’ve earned some arrogance.” Hermann gave an amused huff, and the heaviness that had dragged at Newt’s heart at the sight of those books, and the long hours of solitude and darkness at which they hinted, lifted just a little. “Sooo, where does the tour lead us next?”

“There’s only one thing left to see. Unless you feel a pressing need to inspect the closets, I was thinking we could take a closer look at the bed.”

“Seriously, the bed?” Newt groaned. _“_ Dude, I’ve been stuck in a bed for a _year_ , come on! There’s gotta be _something_ more interesting in this apartment than the goddamn _bed_. I’ll read your academic journals before that, are you kidding me? I…”

Hermann coughed delicately. “I was more thinking of what can be done in a bed?” Newt looked at him blankly, and Hermann sighed. “I’d like to kiss you without breaking my neck in the process, Newton. You’re quite a bit shorter at the moment, even than usual.”

“Oh.” Newt’s eyes widened. “Ooh! I get it. Yeah, beds, man. World’s greatest invention. Let’s go check out the _bed_.”

* * *

“Y’know,” Newt wheezed conversationally, one week later. “I really didn’t think anything could be worse than Crossfit. But I was wrong. Totally wrong. Y’know what’s way worse, Herms? Physical _fucking_ therapy.”

Newt’s arms were shaking and sweat dripped down his face and soaked his loose t-shirt back and front from the simple act of crossing from one end of the room to the other with the supportive bars, a distance of about three meters, total. His throat had healed after a few days, and even if his lingering shriek was a bit worse than, admittedly, the usual. At least he could voice his displeasure at great length and volume to whoever would listen, which was usually Hermann, about the other aspects of making up for a whole year spent in a bed.

“Yes darling, you’ve mentioned,” Hermann said, without glancing up from his laptop screen. He sat in the corner, his granny glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, going through work emails. “Approximately a dozen times in the last hour.”

“Hey, if you don’t want the live updates, you could just go back to the apartment,” Newt retorted.

“I didn’t say you could quit walking, Geiszler,” his physical therapist barked. Oh yeah, his therapist. And here Newt had been expecting some meek, mild mannered perhaps even _angelic_ nurse type who would speak softly and guide him through, who knows, yoga stretches or whatever to help him slowly regain the strength he’d lost in his legs after being a vegetable for so long.

He was not prepared for Henrik. Henrik was old guard PPDC, from back in the day when a bad Drift in a Mark 1 meant having all your nerve endings fried. He’d probably treated more Jaeger pilots than Newt had ever _met_. Henrik was built like a refrigerator, and about as heavy and square as one too, with a full beard and a thin buzz of white hair thinning on the top of his ruddy head. It was like being nursed back to health by a viking.

“I was just catching my breath!” Newt yelped.

“You were slacking,” Henrik scoffed, the rounded consonants of his Norwegian accent barely softening his barked commands. “I want this track done in half the time Geiszler, or you’re doing double reps!”

“You heard the man, Newton,” Hermann smirked, waving his hand towards the track in encouragement. “This is all for your own good, after all.”

“Why don’t _you_ get in here and do a few reps if it’s so easy!” Newt shrieked back over his shoulder, but because he lived in mortal fear of Henrik and his extra reps, he did so while forcing himself another centimeter along the poles.

“I’m here for moral support,” Hermann said primly, his fingers tapping absently on the keyboard. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Moral support, my _ass_. You’re enjoying this!”

“Gottlieb,” Henrik snapped, and Hermann started, stiffening as the therapist approached him, hands on hips.  “I see you’re favoring that cane more than usual lately.”

Hermann swallowed visibly. “Well, you see, I…”

“I thought I sent you home with exercises when I let you take a break from our sessions to Drift with Geiszler.” Henrik’s eyes narrowed. “How have those been going?”

“They… ah…” Hermann pressed into the back of his chair. “Well, there was so little time.....”

 _“Ja?_ Well starting tomorrow I’d like to get you in joint sessions with Geiszler. If you’re so eager to talk, you can talk while stretching out that leg.”

Hermann’s jaw dropped. “ _He_ was talking to _me!_ ”

“You were providing a distraction,” Henrik retorted, and made a disgusted sound. “Drift couples, I swear. Turn your back for five seconds and they start _canoodling_ again.”

Both Henrik and Hermann turned at the sound of Newt’s muffled snickering.  

“Geiszler! Three more reps on the bars then back to floor stretches. You still have two hours left in your session.”

“Oh, come on!”

* * *

Newt had suspected something weird was going on for the past couple weeks now, but that physical therapy session confirmed it.

Hermann was _worrying_ about something, and since that worrying was made up of hovering within a few feet of Newt at all times—even when it meant crossing paths with the physical therapist that apparently scared them _both_ shitless, and when it meant getting assigned the dreaded floor stretches—because he wouldn’t let Newt out of his sight. Given the more-or-less chill, even _idyllic_ nature of their current life—punctuated by separate sessions with Lang and the daily trips to the torture chamber that was Henrik’s floor mats—there shouldn’t _be_ anything to worry about, which meant something was _up_ , and Newt was going to find out what that was.

Newt lay on his back studying Hermann from the bed as he considered his game plan. He could totally understand hovering, really, he could. If Hermann had vanished for a decade and was suddenly back, Newt would probably just skip the niceties and handcuff the two of them together to make sure the guy never went out of his sight again. The problem here was that Hermann was pretending _not_ to watch. Like right now, sitting at his desk staring at the same line of an email he’d objectively been looking at for about ten minutes.

“Ok, what is it?” Newt huffed, and winced as he propped himself up on his elbows to give Hermann a level look.

Hermann started, and frowned as he gave Newt his full attention, as if he hadn’t secretly been giving half of it the whole time. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Something is up, dude. You’ve followed me to every one of my physical therapy sessions, even though it means that now you’ve gotta do sessions with Henrik too ‘cause you got caught slacking on your stretching homework. What gives? You didn’t hover this bad when we were going through the actual Circles of imaginary Hell, and that’s saying something.”

“I’ve hardly been ‘slacking’ on my own therapy, I’ve simply lacked the time to…”

“That _really_ wasn’t the takeaway, Herms.”

Hermann’s lips tightened, and he sighed. He rose from the chair to join Newt on the bed, sitting at the edge but putting his hand out so it was within range of Newt’s. “You just… seem to be taking this all far better than I expected.”

“What, should I be taking it _worse?_ ” Newt said incredulously.

“Yes, quite honestly,” Hermann said. “You’ve been through a great deal.”

“And I’m taking care of it,” Newt exclaimed. “I’m seeing Henrik and Lang, _daily_ , about what happened. Sometimes I cry about shit during my sessions, and I mean at both the psych  _and_  the physical therapy. By the way, are you _sure_ some people aren’t still mad at me? Because I _swear_ Henrik is trying to kill me. It’s good, man, I’m doing everything I’m supposed to for dealing with this sort of crap.”

“Which is admirable. Indeed, I was expecting you to pitch a fit over your care regimen, but…”

“It’s just science, Herms. I’d go to a doctor for a broken leg, or stupid noodle legs in this case,” Newt said. “Why wouldn’t I go to one for a stupid noodle brain after all that shit?”

“That wasn’t my point. My point was that I worry about when the other proverbial _shoe_ will drop.” Hermann leaned forward, and rested his hand on Newt’s, drawing his gaze. “Newton, do you truly understand that we are out of there? That you are free now?”

A quick affirmative rose easily to Newt’s lips because,  _duh_ , he knew he was out. He’d gotten _shot_ for it, it was a whole big thing. There was _finality_ to it, there was _closure_.

Instead, Newt’s breath froze in his throat. God, he really sucked at lying to Hermann. He hung his head and sighed. “Rude, man. I’ve already got a therapist.”

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Nah, you’re right.” Newt scraped a hand through his hair and looked up. “You’re right. I’ve talked to Lang about it too. Sometimes it just feels like I’m still… in my own head, or getting a couple minutes to stretch my legs before the Precursors are going to swoop in and take back control. Like I _know_ , intellectually, that we’re here. The reality checks out and boy have I _checked_. Constantly. I know that this is happening. And I’m happy about it, super glad actually. I almost can’t think about it too much because my heart will just _explode_ in, like, kittens and rainbows. Or maybe I’ll have another panic attack but…” He gestured vaguely. “It’s all… there, on the other side, like I’m in a bubble that I’m waiting to pop. It just doesn’t…”

“… feel entirely real, yes,” Hermann finished for him. “I know how that can be.”

“Yeah. Wait, _how_ did you know that? Are we ghost Drifting, are you back in my head?”

“It would hardly be necessary when I went through very much the same,” Hermann said. He shifted and looked away, out the window to the sunlight and the sea crashing below. “Two years ago, my initial realization of what happened to you, and of what that meant for the previous ten years in retrospect, caused me… considerable distress. It was some time before I could truly accept it was not a vivid nightmare from which I would soon wake. It’s a common result of such a shock, or so I am given to understand, but I need not be an expert to recognize that, with your experiences, you may be going through something much the same.”

“Oh, bud,” Newt grimaced in sympathy, and reached out to squeeze Hermann’s hand. “Uh, what happened when that ended? Wait, _did_ it end? I’m kind of afraid to ask.”

Hermann sighed and looked thoughtful. “It did, rather unexpectedly, in fact. There was nothing otherwise remarkable about that day. One moment I was working in my lab and the next I realized... this was it, this was my reality now. That the Precursors had returned, and you were imprisoned in a cell block below my feet because their first act of vengeance was to steal you away. That you had been trapped, alone with them for ten years while I did _nothing_ , and I simply… snapped. Broke some rather expensive machinery, ‘flipped _the fuck_ out’, to use your verbiage, and then began theorizing on a method to break you free of their control. Or, failing that, how to destroy those responsible utterly. The bomb was not built in a day, after all.” Hermann’s lips quirked in a bitter, self-deprecating smile. “I never said I coped _well_. If you can refrain from wiping out an entire alien species as part of your recovery, then you can count yourself the better man of the two of us.”

At this point, Newt’s eyebrows had almost reached his hairline. _Scared and horny_ , indeed. “I mean, I’m not saying it wouldn’t be tempting. I probably would have done the same if it was the other way around.”

“There’s no point in lying to make me feel better. You would have found some alternative, I’m sure.”

“Mmm, no. Nope, I think a bomb would have fit the bill _just about_ perfectly,” Newt said. “If the Precursors had gotten their hands on you instead?  That would be me in a heartbeat. I mean, if there was even a world to _stand on_ after that _._ I think we’re all pretty damn lucky they didn’t take you instead, or we would have been toast in, like, a month. Seriously, what kind of idiot takes the biologist to run an evil Jaeger program?”

He had hoped to get a smile out of Hermann with that one, but Hermann only glanced back at him with a frown. “I’m serious, Newton, this is just the sort of behavior I’m concerned about. Your flippancy on the matter of your… your kidnapping, your ordeal.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Newt exclaimed in exasperation. “It happened. It could have been a lot worse. It could have been a lot _better_ too, but I gotta live with that. I can’t _not_ talk about it, and I don’t want to _not_ talk about it.”

“Indeed, it’s an effort to get you to _not_ _talk_ about anything, one I’ve long since given up,” Hermann said, and this time the corner of his lip turned up. Newt scoffed, and gave him a punch in the arm that turned into sort of an awkward shoulder pat given how weak it was. “I will try not to be such a mother hen about this, but I would feel better if you allowed me to look after you in my own way for now? I don’t mean to be a burden on your independence.”

“Sure man, stalk away, you’re my favorite groupie,” Newt said with a dismissive wave. “Just don’t watch me like you think I’m some sort of bomb that’s gonna go off. … Shit, that was too soon wasn’t it? Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“If you can speak freely about the Precursors, then trust that I can hear the ‘b’ word without breaking into hysterics,” Hermann said, and rolled his eyes. “I hardly would have survived the year if I had fallen to pieces every time it was mentioned in my presence. The congratulations were as thorough as they were crass.”

“Uh, yeah about that, how are _your_ sessions with Lang going?” Newt said, and knew he had scored a point when Hermann puffed up defensively and looked distinctly flustered. “Come on dude, spill. I mean, I know it’s confidential, but you get to tag along to all my physical therapy sessions, the least you can do is give me the bird’s eye view on how your stuff is going. ‘Cause if you don’t, I’m going to suggest couples therapy, which is actually not a bad thing for us to be doing in general? They say the couple that gets therapy together… ok, I don’t have a rhyme for that one, but the point is that given everything we went through it can be really…”

“ _Fine_ , they’re fine, Newton,” Hermann interrupted. “I’m simply not _accustomed_ to discussing my innermost thoughts at such length. That said, I can see the value in working with a professional given our…our experiences.”

Newt’s grin faltered. “You’re just figuring that out _now_ _?_ Dude, you _must_ have seen someone before, given… oh my god, you really haven’t? Oh my god, that explains _so much!_ ”

Hermann bristled. “Why would I? I’m of sound mind, if not body. Did _you_ see a professional before you experienced trauma?”

“ _Yeah_ , dude, since I was like _eight years old_ when I first got diagnosed with attention issues! One of the worst parts of the last decade was that I couldn’t call my therapist or get my _meds!_ ” Newt gaped. “ _How_ did you pass the psych eval to get into the PPDC?”

“It’s not as if it’s hard to pass a simple military cognitive evaluation, Newton,” Hermann sniffed. “How did _you_ pass it, if it was so very _difficult?_ ”

“With a _doctor’s note_ , dude!” Newt screeched. “Telling the Marshal that I had my symptoms under control and I was getting regular treatment. Holy _shit_ I can’t believe you haven’t seen someone after the _Breach,_ or the _bomb_ , or the _war,_ are you _kidding_ me? Who do I have to fight around here to find out why you weren’t getting help? Is my old cell block free? Because they are seriously going to have to chain me the fuck up to keep me from finding that asshole. This is seriously _nuts_ , I can’t believe…!”

“ _Newton_ ,” Hermann snapped, and Newt went quiet. It was the first edge he’d heard in Hermann’s voice since he woke up. It was… kinda nice, actually. Familiar. At least the guy wasn’t walking on eggshells around him that way. “You will do no such thing. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and besides, I have seen enough doctors for one lifetime.” His lips tightened to a line, and if biting back something secret and shameful, and _oh shit_ , right, the leg thing. Then Hermann’s expression softened, and he rubbed his hand once down his face. “I understand the need for it, and I see now that I have been far too… self-sufficient, in this respect. I am happy to attend my sessions with Dr. Lang, truly, and I believe we are making whatever constitutes ‘good progress’. Now, if you would like the two of us to see Lang together, or another therapist for that matter, then I am open to that possibility as well. I only ask that you make such arrangements as I am… unfamiliar with the process involved in selecting someone. And of course it must be with a professional sanctioned by the PPDC, as we must take into consideration that the majority of our experiences together are highly classified.”

“Right, gotta do this by the book, don’t we?” Newt said sarcastically. “God forbid we don’t get our brains treated according to military regulation. I kid, I kid. _Fine_ , if you keep seeing Lang and maybe come to couples therapy with me—and I can find someone with high enough _clearance_ to treat us, _Christ—_ _then_ in exchange you can follow me around to your heart’s content to make sure I don’t combust or something. Deal? I mean, either way you can still follow me around, I don’t mind, but _feel_ like I’ve gotta put some kind of leverage on the line here.”

“Deal,” Hermann said without a trace of irony, and took Newt’s hand, shaking it firmly. And really there was nothing else Newt _could_ do but pull that hand up to his lips when it was done, and place a gentlemanly kiss on the back that morphed into leaning in and planting an messy, ungentlemanly one on Hermann’s lips. “And Newton?” Hermann added, his voice muffled.

“Mmph?” Newt said, nibbling at Hermann’s lip as he tried to lose himself in the kind of kiss that was once the subject of many lonely fantasies. It had been a whole hour since there last one, after all, simply unacceptable.

Hermann broke away and looked him dead in the eye. “I am serious, don’t you dare go picking fights with PPDC personnel on some mistaken belief that you do so on my behalf.”

“Fine, I promise,” Newt sighed, then swooped back in to recapture Hermann’s lips, this time with far more returned enthusiasm, a convenient distraction from the fingers Newt crossed behind his back.

Anyway, it wasn’t like he was going to throw down with any old J-Tech he happened to come across, it wasn’t _their_ fault that no one had been looking after Hermann while he was out of commission. He’d only pick a fight with someone at the PPDC if they _really_ deserved it, just like old times, and he knew exactly where the blame landed for this one.

It was all really convenient too, because only a few days later, before he even had to start _looking_ , said Marshal Pentecost came for a visit.

* * *

Newt was toweling off his hair after showering at the PT gym, and getting dressed in loose sweatpants and a t-shirt. It wasn’t as if Hermann’s shower was _bad_ for the purpose, but the one in the gym was designed for worse cases than his, which made it that much easier to move around in, and it meant he didn’t look like a rat drowned to death in its own sweat when he rolled into the elevator. Not to mention that today he was thinking of going for a longer ride around the Shatterdome before heading back, maybe grab some snacks or catch a view of the sea from the ground level. He was just debating whether he should try to tie his shoes himself or ask Henrik for the assist, when he rolled out the door and saw a man he vaguely remembered as Stacker Pentecost’s kid in deep conversation with Henrik.

Jake was just a teen the last time he swung by the Hong Kong Shatterdome while Newt was there, and the second time they met, the Precursors had been keeping Newt on lockdown, far away from the controls, so his view of the adult Pentecost Jr. had been fuzzy at best.  

Any illusions he might have had that the Marshal was there to see Henrik—and therefore Newt could beat a hasty retreat before he did something really stupid like blow up at a Jaeger pilot who could squish him like a bug—went up in flames when they both turned to face him at his approach.

“Uh, hey guys,” Newt said. He let the wheelchair slide to a stop about halfway between the two men and the door. “What’s going on here, am I getting drafted or something? ‘Cause without the Kaiju around I’m like eight different kinds of conscientious objector to all… this.” He gestured to take in Pentecost’s uniform and the whole military _thing_.

Jake exchanged a glance with Henrik. “He really is different, eh?”

Newt’s mouth dropped open, and any promise he’d made to Hermann about not picking fights went out the window because it was _on_. “Yeah no shit, asshole,” Newt snapped. “The real deal _is_ kinda different from a bunch of aliens using my body as a fucking sock puppet. You got something to say to me, or did you just stop by for a reminder of how stupid everyone is?”

Jake’s lip twitched, and he exchanged a look with Henrik. “Do you mind if we chat alone for a moment?”

Henrik waved him on. “Take him, I’m done with him. Same time and place tomorrow, Geiszler, _ja?_ ” he said, and didn’t wait for a response before striding out the double doors to the main gym.

“Shame, because I was just leaving,” Newt said, and turned his wheelchair towards the doorway out to the hall. He only gone half the distance there before Jake caught up to him.

“Where you headed? I’ll walk with you.”

Newt stopped. “The cantina, but if you’re really that thirsty for a talk, maaaaybe it’s best we keep it somewhere without an audience.” Newt tapped the chair to face Jake and crossed his arms, looking way up at him.

“I’m not going to say anything about what you went through in front of the Shatterdome cantina, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jake said, raising an eyebrow.

“Really? Good, ‘cause then I won’t have to question your competence, your intelligence, and possibly your parentage in front of them either, because we’re gonna get this talk out of the way right here, ok sunshine?”

“So you’ve got a problem with me too, Geiszler?” Jake said. There was an array of inflated training balls lining the wall, and Jake grabbed one big enough to use as a chair. He rolled it over to Newt’s side, settling down on top of it to face him. Newt’s eyes tracked him the whole way. “All right, fine, let’s do this. Sounds like you’ve got a lot to get off your chest.”

“Yeah well, for starters, you kinda broke my boyfriend,” Newt shot back. “So I’m not sure what kind of welcome you were expecting.”

“Great, so this _isn’t_ about how _my_ boyfriend punched you in the face,” Jake said pleasantly.

“Hell no, this isn’t about... Wait, _who_ punched me in the face?”

Jake waved the question away. “Doesn’t matter, Gottlieb tells me that wasn’t you at the time anyway, and from where I’m standing now that’s pretty clear.”

“Or maybe your boyfriend is just really forgettable,” Newt drawled. “I’m not falling for the whole buddy-buddy, ‘we’re all friends here’ interrogation thing, dude. _You_ came looking for _me_ first, so what the hell do you want?”

“To see for myself what all the fuss was about. My best scientist spent a lot of time and military tech getting you out of that coma. Before that, he risked his reputation defending you, and pulled in every favor he had to get your name cleared, at a time when that was _not_ the most popular option for what to do with you. So I admit, I’m a bit curious to see if you were worth it.”

Newt bristled. “Since when was he _your_ scientist?”

“I _feel_ like that’s not the part of that sentence you should be focused on,” Jake said. “But for your information, since he volunteered to be the head of the K-Science division for the Anteverse invasion. Or did he fail to mention that part?”

“You know, he didn’t really stress it, compared to the whole ‘making him complicit in genocide’ thing. Can’t imagine why,” Newt seethed. This guy was quick on his feet at least and he found himself leaning forward so he was on a level with Jake to glare at him. He and Hermann might bicker but it had been a good long while since Newt had a proper knock-down, drag out fight and he was _itching_ for one after realizing what Hermann had gone through without him there. “Who cares if he volunteered? We _all_ volunteered, not that you’d know since you were, what, six when we closed the Breach? I’m more focused on the part where my guy feels the burden of an entire _planet_ on his soul. Were all the therapists booked that day? Who the fuck had the bright idea to let Hermann shoulder that alone?”

“You think we didn’t try? He refused to see anyone,” Jake countered. “Well, what do you want from us? We couldn’t force him. It wasn’t until he made contact with you that I was able to get him to see Lang, and even then he was only interested if I told him it was to help rescue you.”

“Ok, but see, that’s where your story doesn’t check out, because Hermann Gottlieb is the biggest military groupie there ever was. He used to set his alarm for three in the goddamn morning to practice for drills when he was _twelve years old_ for god’s sake. You literally could have just told him it was a mission and he would have _jumped_ at the chance.”

Jake snorted. “You know, it’s been so long since I saw that side of him, I almost forgot it existed. You heard the part where he doesn’t trust us anymore, right?”

“And why would _that_ be?” Newt sneered.

Jake shrugged. “Maybe because we lied to him?”

Newt drew up short. “Wait what, for real? You’re just gonna out and say that?”

Jake sighed, and clasped his hands together, leaning forward. “The Precursors said they had you locked down, so I guess you really weren’t around for the whole story, yeah? You want to hear it now?”

Newt hesitated. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Hermann, he loved him to death, but the guy had his biases and, well, it wouldn’t be _totally_ out of character for Hermann to have a skewed view of events. And Newt was curious, he could admit it. He gave a short, reluctant nod, and settled back in his wheelchair to listen.

Jake took a deep breath, and began, “The very first thing I did when we got the green light for the invasion was ask Dr. Gottlieb to join up with us. But at the time, he was more interested in finding a way to treat you. Even back then he wanted to try Drifting with you, something about lifting the neural load to get you out from under the Precursors’ control. The PPDC had to forbid him and double your security, but you know how it is with scientists, always Drifting behind your back. We were afraid we’d lose _both_ of you to those bastards if he somehow snuck past us, and that’s if we could even tell if he was infected. It took ten years for anyone to notice with you.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Newt muttered, then swallowed as his stomach turned and his skin went clammy at the thought. God, what _if_ Hermann had Drifted with him back then, when the Precursors were still in full control?

Jake studied his face, expression unreadable. “I take it that’s what you’re pissed about? Us not letting him Drift to get you out of there sooner?”

“Are you kidding me? No!” Newt shivered. “No, the thought of him Drifting with me while they were still in my head? Jesus, it makes me go cold all over. I was probably as dangerous to Drift with as Alice at that point. It would have been such a dumbass thing for Hermann to do, holy _shit_.” Newt paused, chewing on his lip as the enormity of the possibility crashed over him, of what that would have _meant_ , and only waved for Jake to continue when he realized he’d been staring into space.

Jake shrugged. “I figured a smart guy like you could guess the rest. Having a direct line to the Anteverse was more valuable to the war than one compromised scientist, even a Kaiju expert like yourself. We wanted to use your connection to feed false intel to the Precursors: let them think they were getting to us, that we might let something slip in front of you.”

Newt nodded. “Like when you let them know Mako is still alive to freak them out.”

“Yeah, shit like that. That’s what you do when you’ve got a spy, right? You don’t kill ‘em. You wrap them up tight in a nice, cozy blanket and spoon feed them everything you want the other side to know. And as far as we were concerned, you were a spy. The only question up for debate was if you were a willing one, and that could wait until the war was over.”

“‘Cause who needs civil liberties or due process, right?” Newt drawled.

“Geiszler, I didn’t think I’d need to stress this, but _thousands_ of people died as a result of the Precursor attack two years ago. You were a war criminal as far as anyone cared. Gottlieb was the _only_ person insisting that you were an unwilling host, and if not for your PPDC record, and Liwen Shao backing him up, there were plenty of people who would have been happy to pull the plug on your life support and call it even,” Jake retorted.

Newt’s fingers clenched around the wheelchair armrest. “You think I don’t know that? I was barely older than you are now when I joined the PPDC to fight the Kaiju, and you’re what, twenty? Can you even drink legally? Dude, the _only_ reason the Precursors were able to get to me in the _first place_ was because I took worse than 50/50 odds—and I mean way, _way_ worse—that connecting _my brain_ directly to a Kaiju would give us _some_ idea of how to survive, and I just had to _hope_ it wouldn’t fry me like an egg! The only reason they knew about Hermann too was because of that second Drift which, by the way, _your dad_ ordered me to do! And you know what? I don’t regret doing it, not for a second, because it saved the fucking world! Never mind that they’ve been _torturing_ us ever since, and let me tell you how much _fun_ they had showing me every single day for ten years how they planned to destroy everything I ever worked for, kill everyone I ever loved, using _my face!_ ”

Jake’s eyebrows rose and and he settled back, his lips curving in a satisfied smile. “I thought there must be something he saw in you, but I have to admit, I was bit worried you wouldn’t be good enough for our doctor.”

“What is this, the shotgun talk? You think I’m asking you permission to take Hermann to the fucking prom?” Newt spat. “Fuck you, buddy! You don’t get to be all gracious and act like it’s your call to make now that _you’ve_ decided I’m not some evil mastermind. Hermann and I have known each other since you were in _diapers_. What the hell were you planning to do, protect him from me?”

“Maybe someone should have, back in the day,” Jake said pleasantly.

Newt’s eyes narrowed. “That’s _rich_ coming from you. Weren’t you just saying you lied to him so bad that he didn’t get therapy after saving the world for you a _third_ time? Maybe _I_ should have been there to protect him from _you_. All of you: the officers, the Jaeger pilots, and the goddamn PPDC!”

“If you had, then a lot more people would have died,” Jake said flatly. “I know Gottlieb regrets his work with us now, but that wasn’t always the case, and to be honest, I think he’s wrong. Humanity was never going to be safe as long as they were out there. Sure, I told Gottlieb that the best way to free you was to defeat the Precursors instead of trying to Drift with you back then. Sure, we lied, because we _couldn’t_ know for certain if that would work. But after that, he began to develop the bomb while we prepared the ground attack. Except the ground attack failed, just like he said it would, and then all we had was the bomb. So we…”

“Let me guess, doubled the payload and deployed Hermann’s bomb for one massive, last ditch effort before the Precursors could turn around and wipe us all out,” Newt finished, and Jake went silent. “What, surprised I guessed? Going out with a massive do-or-die attack is just the most obviously 'Pentecost' thing to do.”

Jake grimaced. “That strategy had nothing to do with my dad. The reality was that we weren’t going to get another shot. The Precursors were too sophisticated. If _any_ of them survived the attack and got the chance to come back through the breach we made, humanity would have been _wiped out_. There was no other option. The only reason Dr. Gottlieb has the luxury of his doubts now is because we’re all still alive to have them.”

“Well, you know what? You’re right!” Newt snapped.

Jake’s mouth opened another retort, then his brow furrowed in confusion. “Wait, what?”

Newt settled back in his wheelchair with a huff. “You’re right. I know Hermann would probably kick my ass for saying this, but you did the right thing. Except for the ground invasion part, that’s the most dumbfuck thing I’ve ever heard. But you know Hermann and I don’t agree on everything, right?” Newt snorted at the thought. They barely agreed on anything. “Trust me, I know the Precursors better than anyone, and yeah, it’s a tricky moral issue and all that, but guess what? _They_ weren’t worrying about the tricky moral issue of wiping _us_ out. So yeah, it sucks. It sucks that Hermann had to make that decision. It sucks that anyone on Earth had to make it, and it sucks even more that they came here in the first place, but it’s not like they gave us another option once they did.”

“You really think so?” Jake blinked.

“I know so,” Newt said firmly. “Drifting is a two-way street. Sure, they mostly kept me locked up, but I got glimpses, and I can tell you, those glimpses were not nice. The Precursors got by for thousands of years by chomping down worlds like ours and moving on to the next, and after we closed the Breach on them? They were _pissed_. For a bunch of cosmic invaders, they were petty little bastards, and there’s no way they were _ever_ going to let that go.”

Jake shook his head ruefully. “Is that so? Well, I guess that’s good to know, not that I was losing much sleep over them. Maybe Gottlieb would have seen it that way too, if you had come back then. But you didn’t, so here we are. Instead, you ended up in that coma, and he blamed me for it. Said he should have been focusing on saving you the whole time, instead of ‘building my doomsday device’. Filed the injunction that day to claim custody of you, and began Drifting right after that.”

“Yeah, well, Hermann always did focus on dumb shit that didn’t have any proof,” Newt huffed a sigh. “So that’s what this was all about, huh? He was mad because winning the war didn’t bring me back? I mean, shitty, yeah. Mostly for me. But it’s not like you guys could have known.”

“Dr. Gottlieb is a brilliant man, and a very _focused_ man.” Jake shrugged. “Maybe he could have gotten you out if he focused on that instead. He seemed to think so.”

“Yeah, _or_ the Anteverse would have two assets,” Newt sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “And since they made me some Bizarro world, Mirror Universe corporate toolbag, that probably means they’d make Hermann all suave and fancy too, but like a vampire or something. Real Saturday morning cartoon villain stuff, maaaaybe kinda hot…? But yeah, no. Drifting with me back then? Bad idea. If you thought I was a pain in the ass, supervillain Hermann would be the stuff of fucking _nightmares_. We’d all be dead in three seconds flat. No whimper. Just a really loud bang.”

Jake snickered, and Newt wanted to laugh along too, because what could he say? Jake was a Pentecost and he oozed charisma. Plus it was hard to stay mad at the guy out of solidarity when the thing that had soured Hermann towards Jake in the first place was the whole “not letting Hermann get brain-eaten by the Anteverse” thing. And Newt got it, he really did about Hermann being a stubborn son of a bitch when it came to things like therapy, or 21st century fashion sense, so maybe it wasn’t entirely this kid’s fault.

“Listen, we owe him a huge debt,” Jake said when he sobered. “The least I could do was smooth the way for him to Drift with you after the war was over. It’s the only thing he wanted. Could have had anything he asked for in the whole world after he saved us, and he just wanted to be left alone to help you. I hope you can appreciate that.”

“Sounds like what I ‘owe’ him is a smack upside the head,” Newt grumbled, but his cheeks heated. “I’ll see what I can do about getting an apology out of him for some of that. It sounds like he’s been a raging dick to you, and boy do I know how that can be.”

“Don’t worry about it. You know, I saw him smiling the other day? He was stopping by the mess hall, and he actually smiled. I haven’t seen anything like it since...” Jake paused. “I barely knew him back then, but since the last time you were awake. Before anyone knew what was going on. A lot of the recruits thought Dr. Gottlieb _couldn’t_ smile. I think I know who to thank for that.”

Newt’s blush burned even hotter and he cleared his throat. These goddamn Pentecosts and their speeches…“Well, thanks for keeping him busy saving humanity or whatever, and the whole not letting him Drift with my Precursor-addled brain. But that doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you for not getting him therapy or, I dunno, a hug or something when he started angsting about how he was the destroyer of worlds.”

“The feeling is mutual. I’m not too happy with myself on that count either.” Jake stood, and extended his hand to Newt. “Dr. Geiszler, it’s been a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Newt took the extended hand, but didn’t shake it. Instead, he clenched his admittedly pathetic grip around Jake’s, and looked up at him inquisitively. “Sorry I can’t say the same.”

Jake frowned, “What was that?”

“Tell me Jake… it is Jake, right, not something starting with an ’S’? Does anyone else here see it?” Newt paused and Jake’s eyes narrowed. “That you’re faking, all the time?”

Jake stayed silent, expression unreadable. But he didn’t pull his hand back.

Newt licked his lips, and wondered if he had guessed right or if he was about to get a punch in the jaw for his trouble. Or both.“You’re pretending to be Stacker. And you’re pretty damn good at it too. You’ve got the walk right, the deep voice, _the fancy speeches_ ," he dropped his voice out of his mocking British accent. “I bet at this point you don’t even realize you’re doing it anymore and hey, maybe he didn’t either. Maybe he was copying someone else too. But I’m gonna bet that this isn’t you at all. I bet two years ago, you realized you’d gotten yourself into a fight that was bigger than you, and that you’d need to become larger than life too if you were gonna get everyone you loved through that war you started.”

“And what would you know about faking, Geiszler?” Jake said, studying him with renewed suspicion.

Newt released the handshake to spread his hands. “I’ve been riding around in my own head with a bunch of jerks pretending to be me for ten _years_ , Pentecost. I know how to spot a faker when I see one. So which one are you, Jake or Stacker? Because I knew Stacker. He was my boss, and a total hardass. We didn’t always agree, but I respected him and would have followed him into hell. I mean, I basically went there on his orders, and I did it because he didn’t give up when things got tough. But Stacker Pentecost is dead now, and I’d kinda like to meet his son for real this time, since I had someone else pretending to be me last time. Or are we gonna do this again, with _you_ pretending to be someone else?”

Jake shifted his weight, and this was it, this was when Newt was going to get decked by a way-too-handsome Jaeger pilot who could probably punch through bricks or some shit. But instead, the weirdest thing happened. Jake’s posture changed, lost some of that iron-spined, propaganda poster pose. When he spoke again, his accent was thicker. It lost some of the prep school vowels and became as East London as Newt had ever heard. “Jake Pentecost,” he said, and stuck out his hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Dr. Geiszler.”

“Call me Newt,” Newt said, and took Jake’s hand, shaking easily this time. “Only my mother calls me doctor.”

Jake laughed. “Parents, right? Actually, I was adopted just like Mako, but since everyone thinks Stacker was my biological dad for some reason, I gotta live up to all that. Sometimes it makes it feel that much more important to try to be like him when people think it’s in your blood or somethin’. Like everything you do has gotta live up to the legend, or else you’re a disappointment.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, kid,” Newt said. “You finished the fight, and it needed finishing. Plus, you were smart enough to get Hermann to help you. You don’t need to be Stacker. Believe me, I know. It’s no fun when you’re forced to be someone else.”

* * *

Things were pretty good after that. Sure, every day brought him closer to a dinner with Liwen _fucking_ Shao, but it also brought him closer to a trip out to Tokyo to visit Mako and her boy-toy. It meant another day closer to seeing his dads in Boston again, after a tearful Skype session where Newt found out that they knew some of the details but (thankfully) not all of them. The Precursors had let him call his parents occasionally over the years, just to keep them from getting suspicious. They were used to not hearing from him for months at a time since the Kaiju War days, but two years was too much, and they were going to fix that soon.

Every day brought back a little more strength too, not that Newt was cheering about that as much since that meant a shit-ton of reps and stretches that left his muscles shaking too hard to make much use of anyway. Sometimes it felt like he wasn’t making any progress, when all he could do was a few tottering steps around their apartment before he was collapsing back down again. But he had to admit, slowly but surely he was getting to the point where he could _at least_ wrestle a kitten and maybe win, and after six weeks _that_ meant he was trusted enough to do some exercises at home and _thank fucking god_ , that meant relief from the daily sessions with Henrik and a whole glorious day to himself, which just happened to be a Saturday, which meant he got a whole glorious day to spend with Hermann.

That day started awesome too. Sleeping in a bed when you were there _on purpose_ was awesome. A seriously underrated experience after years in a coma, and before that blackouts and puppeting, not to mention being stuck in a sensory deprivation void-turned-literary-reference-plagued-mindscape where he _also_ couldn’t sleep.

Waking _up_ in a bed had even more to recommend it, for one specific reason. Returning to consciousness with a warm, familiar weight beside him, and Hermann’s armed wrapped around him like a cuddly octopus was better than getting high. If it wasn’t for constant reality checks, moments like this would be one of those things that made him _certain_ he was engaging in another intense wish-fulfillment fantasy, or was just flat out dreaming: a cloudless sky shading from rose to light blue outside (Newt was less a morning person and more of a _whatever_ person when it came to keeping regular hours), the sounds of the surf crashing far below, and Hermann’s cowlicked hair sticking out in all directions as he burrowed his face against Newt’s neck.

That, and the insistent poking at his thigh, as he realized that the warmth and wetness at his throat wasn’t run-of-the-mill sleepy cuddles, and that his waking up at this moment might have an external cause, and a purpose behind it.

Hermann wasn’t drooling, but actually pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to his neck that sent little shivers down Newt’s skin, and god he probably had the worst morning breath right now, but he couldn’t help gasping as Hermann’s long fingers scraped up under the t-shirt he’d worn to bed to trace his fingernails lightly over Newt’s stomach and chest.

“H-Hey, what brought this on?” Newt huffed as Hermann’s fingertips traced lower at the elastic band of his boxers. His eyelids fluttered. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I dreamt of you,” Hermann muttered against his skin. His hands gave a questioning pluck at the edge of Newt’s shirt, and Newt obliged by shifting (and nearly elbowing Hermann in the face, but he _had_ asked for it) to strip the shirt off and return as quickly as possible to the heated circle of Hermann’s arms.

“Yeah? Was it a good dream?” Newt said, as he turned on his side to lip at Hermann’s collarbone. Two could play at this game, and he was definitely _awake_ now. Hermann gave an appreciative sigh as Newt’s mouth worked upwards until he had to shimmy a little so he was face to face with Hermann to capture his lips. When they squared up like this, his toes brushed against Hermann’s ankles. Newt stroked his hand lightly down Hermann’s thigh, the bad one, just to let him know he wasn’t going to grab it the wrong way by accident.

“Mmm,” Hermann hummed thoughtfully. “You know? I think it was. Though it left some unfinished business to attend to, if you would care to help.”

“You know me, always happy to _help_ ,” Newt smirked.

“Indeed? Then I’m ever so fortunate that you dropped by,”

“Oh yes, I _dropped by_ ,” Newt dropped into his mocking British accent. “Indeed. _Indubitably_. It’s not as if I live here too.”

Hermann sighed, and tension bled from his shoulders. It gave Newt a little thrill that was one part melancholy and three parts smugly content that he could remind Hermann of that fact and get these happy little sounds out of him that Hermann would never admit to. Maybe someday that would fade and Hermann would get sick of him, or at least not be so adorably pleased at the thought that they lived together. But Newt was in no hurry to get to that point, and hey, maybe they never would.

“I have a proposal of sorts, if you would care to hear it,” Hermann said. He leaned in as he spoke so their lips almost brushed with each word, as if taunting Newt to close the distance. “More of a demonstration, really.”

Newt pressed closer so their bodies were flush against one another. He would need to get Hermann out of those ridiculous button-down pajamas if this plan was anything like he imagined, but he could be patient. It would be like unwrapping a present. “Am I allowed to offer a counterproposal?”

Hermann chuckled under his breath, a throaty sound that sent a pulse straight to Newt’s gut. “I would expect nothing less.”

Newt grinned and snuck in for a kiss that found nothing but air because Hermann had slipped downward and was already kissing his chest. Newt groaned and flopped onto his back as Hermann’s tongue teased at a nipple, tracing a circle around it and pressing the flat hard to the tip until Newt was squirming. Before he could catch his breath, Hermann dipped beneath the covers, mouth a trail down the red and gold tattoos on his stomach that still held a shadow of the abs, wasted away during the coma but, _ugh_ , returned somewhat with the rigor of the physical therapy and the long starvation of a liquid diet. He was working on it though, really.

Hermann didn’t seem bothered one way or the other though, lingering to press his face against Newt’s lower stomach along the faint line of hair bisecting the tattoo, before with a smooth motion he tugged the band of his boxers low enough to free Newt’s already half-hard cock.

Newt pushed his head further back into the pillow as his back arched. His hands flew convulsively to Hermann’s hair, petting and stroking it in encouragement as he felt hot breath against his cock, followed by soft lips kissing at the side as Hermann braced himself on an elbow and took Newt in his other hand.

Newt whimpered, his eyes fluttering shut as arousal sparked through him. His body knew what was coming next, it was Pavlovian at this point. He could barely move in the first weeks since he woke up, which put them in the weird place of Hermann being the more spry of the two, and so most of the work had fallen to him while Newt just voiced (at varying pitch and volume, thankfully the walls were solid concrete) his full-throated enthusiasm, along with whispered promises that once he was better he was _so_ going to make up for every mind-numbing orgasm Hermann had been gracious enough to toss his way. Even reciprocating with a hand job wore him out these days and it _sucked_.

Hermann insisted it was fine, that he not only understood but didn’t _mind_ that Newt couldn’t fully reciprocate at the moment, and it was enough to just have Newt in bed with him once more, but it was about the _principle_ of the thing. It made Newt itch to not being giving as good as he got, especially when the getting was so good. Like now, when he forced his eyes open and tossed the blanket back just in time to see Hermann suckle at the head of his cock, his dark eyes raking over Newt’s body and a flush spreading across his cheeks and oh _fuck_ ,  Newt’s whole body _shivered_ at the sight. He was at full attention now. Hell, he was straining and panting as Hermann started sucking him off with short, shallow pumps teasing the head that had Newt squirming and practically crying.

Hard to think. Even harder ( _heh_ ) when Hermann was giving those breathy moans, his hand that was now slick with saliva pumped the base of Newt’s cock as he struck a rhythm. The mattress shifted as Hermann ground against it, and the muscles in Newt’s thighs shook as heat crawled up his body. His fingers scraped Hermann’s hair, through the soft fuzz of the undercut Hermann had refreshed just last week.

“Hermann, baby, _Herms_ , yeah, just like that, babe, just like tha- _ah!_ ” Newt breathed, and began to whisper on repeat, “So good, baby, so good, _so_ …”

Hermann chuckled at the back of his throat, as if amused by Newt’s babbling, which, _rude_ , but hard to get offended over when the _vibration_ of it sent another shiver through him. Then Hermann was dipping lower around Newt’s cock, his tongue pressing flat to the underside as he began to match the rhythm Newt was setting in his hair with his spasming fingertips.

Newt was in general languid from physical exhaustion these days, and the two of them had not exactly kept their hands off one another long enoughfor sexual tension to build up, so he was nowhere near close. Just happy, more than happy really, practically _purring_ at the sensation of lying back and letting the warmth curl in his gut and tingle up his spine as his breath came in short gasps. He pressed his face sideways into the pillow, biting at the fabric. His whole body was so hot now, and it was so hard to _think_ but there was something he wanted to do, something that wasn’t just coming right away, though with every second that seemed a more ridiculous thought, _except_ …

“Wait. Wait, babe, wait,” Newt panted. Hermann slowed, and he let Newt slip free to frown up at him. He was so _adorable_ like this, god, with his hair sticking up and cheeks all flushed, and those dark eyes dazed. But they could do better, _Newt_ could do better.

He remembered now, the thought he’d had before bed the other night when he made it all the way across the apartment without grabbing onto the wall once, without even _noticing_ that his legs were usually like jelly at that point, and that was when he got the idea that he had _promised_ to revisit as soon as he woke up, only to get distracted and forget all about it, but to be fair he’d had a warm Herm-octopus wrapped all around him which was distraction enough for just about anything.

“One minute, just… ok, first take those _stupid_ pajamas off, while I…” Newt stuttered, and craned over to open the bedside drawer. It was not stuffed with random sex toys, though he was tempted to fill it with them someday, just to mess with Hermann. There _was_ a bottle of lube inside it, but it was tastefully sized and small enough that once he found it, he tossed it down to Hermann without fear of knocking him out. Hermann had already shucked the pajama shirt, and was kicking off the trousers when he gave Newt a questioning look at the sight of the bottle. Newt licked his lips, he would never get tired of looking at all that smooth, bare skin, so his voice came out squeaking and breathy as he said, “Counterproposal time: you get me ready while you’re down there, and I’ll ride you into the sunset. ”

Hermann glanced between the bottle and Newt’s cock, shining with saliva and flushed red, as if more than a little tempted to get right back to it. “Are you certain?”

His breath gusted over Newt’s cock as he spoke, and Newt nodded frantically. “Yeah, yeah I can take it, I can, I… _ah!”_ His words cut off as, with a smirk, Hermann squeezed some of the lube onto his fingertips, and stroked a circle around Newt’s entrance. Newt’s hips bucked. “N-Not gonna try to mother-hen me?”

“I trust you to know your limits,” Hermann said, and his gaze raking over Newt’s exposed body anew as if it was a feast. “You _do_ know your limits, right darling?”

“I do, I _do_ ,” Newt panted, and whined as Hermann took him in his mouth, bobbing once up and down as he writhed. Then Hermann popped off again, and he almost groaned at the loss.

“And you won’t come before I let you?” Hermann said archly, and this time Newt _did_ groan.

“Not gonna have a choice if you keep _talking_ like that,” Newt whimpered. “Come on, Hermann, I’m gonna lose it if you don’t stop teasing me...!” His voice squeaked up as Hermann slipped a finger inside him. He was already relaxed from the morning and so turned on he was aching. It was all he could do to keep from squirming too hard when Hermann slowly began to massage him open, occasionally stroking or sucking at his cock to ease the way whenever his erection began to flag.

By the second finger, Newt was flushed and swearing, writhing around the fingers inside him and he almost didn’t dare look at Hermann, who was watching him hungrily the whole time as those gorgeous fingers stroked in and out. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna… Hermann, come on, I’m trying to keep my promise here but you’re not… _fuck!_ You’re not making it easy!”

There was a shuffling, and Newt cried out again as he was suddenly empty,  and the warmth vanished from around the base of his cock. Then Hermann was easing up to lie beside him on the bed, and grabbing a pillow to stuff under his leg before pulling Newt close for a lazy kiss and Newt _moaned_. God, he could taste himself, and it was so _hot_ and he blood was pulsing, it wasn’t _fair_. “Alright, darling, if you insist,” Hermann rasped against his lips, and Newt was dizzy from the proximity. Hermann paused, looking concerned. “Unless you…?”

“No, no I can, Jesus, just give me a second to get the feeling back in my toes,” Newt slurred, and Hermann smiled at him as Newt pushed up onto all fours to straddle his gorgeous, gangly boyfriend. He dipped down for an open-mouthed kiss of his own, another taste of those lips.

This was how they did it in the good old days so they didn’t put any stress on Hermann’s leg, and maybe it wasn’t as smooth and seamless as the mindscape sex, but there was something about the rough edges of reality that was even hotter. When Newt fitted the head of Hermann’s cock to his entrance he couldn’t stop himself at all from throwing his head back and giving a breathy moan. He had to sink down faster than usual, he just couldn’t hold himself up as long, but the ache was a counterpoint to how _good_ it felt to be so full, and Hermann was gasping beneath him which was enough to forget any discomfort at all, as Hermann's hands flew to Newt’s hips and squeezed.

Beneath him, Hermann bit his lip, his eyelashes fluttering as he looked up at Newt, steadying him as he sank down, and once seated Newt pitched forward, and mashed his lips against Hermann’s neck to not give away that his arms had given out from a mix of weakness and sexy weakness. Hermann’s cock brushed over the sensitive spot so his hands tightened around Hermann’s shoulders and he moaned against his chest.

“Are you alright? Should we do something else?” Hermann said, his voice rough with concern, but Newt shook his head.

“I can do it,” he gasped, and rolled his hips up and down. God, the _sound_ Hermann made in his ear was enough to bring all systems back online, and he rolled his hips again, experimentally. Hermann gasped and it was like electricity through his blood, banishing any lingering fatigue. Holy shit, they were actually _doing_ this. “Yeah. Yeah, you like that, baby?”

“ _Newton_ ,” Hermann breathed, his hands shivered on Newt’s hips. “Yes, darling, _oh_.”

Newt sucked kisses at the corner of Hermann’s neck and shoulders, sending shudders through him, and continued rolling his hips as a counterpoint. Hermann’s dark eyelashes slid shut and his lips parted as he gave gusting little sighs at each thrust. The dull ache inside Newt was completely drowned out as Hermann’s cock brushed his prostate every few thrusts. It was difficult to go fast, and he couldn’t do this for long, but with his cock trapped between their stomachs and rubbing against Hermann’s lean body every time, that wasn’t going to be a problem.

Hermann freed one hand to bury his fingers in Newt’s hair, and Newt arched with a whine as his brain went hazy at the touch. “Yeah, yeah that, harder…” he gasped, but the words were swallowed as Hermann’s fingers clenched and dragged Newt’s face up for a kiss. His tongue played over Newt’s lips, more mess and passion than skill, a hint of ghost Drift, and Newt’s brain whited out.

His thighs and stomach were burning from the exertion, and sweat was beginning to cool his skin as he tried his best to start a rhythm again, until Hermann’s teeth nibbled at his lip then broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together.

“I’ve got you, darling,” Hermann whispered, and both his hands found Newt’s hips again as he took over. He dragged Newt’s hips up and down his cock and _fuck_ , Newt should have remembered that the cane meant Hermann’s arms were fucking _built_ , or maybe Newt was just lighter than he used to be, because Hermann was grinding him onto his dick like he barely weighed anything and Newt’s whimper of protest at having his work taken away turned into a flat out _whimper_.

“Right there, _fuck_ , yes, right there, babe,” Newt whined. His muscles were tensing as and he was getting closer, fuck he needed to touch himself before he lost his mind. “Can I come? Please tell me I can come, Hermann? You feel so good. I gotta come, please…”

Hermann closed his eyes, a crease forming between his brows as his mouth dropped open and his breaths grew louder. His motions became frantic as he buried himself in Newt again and again, maybe too far away on another planet to give Newt the permission he needed and god he _needed_ it. “Please, pleasepleaseplease, you have to let me, I need to. I need it so bad…”

Hermann gave a shudder at Newt's words, his face contorting the way it always did when he was close, and _finally_ nodded. His gorgeous hands were busy, his fingers digging into Newt’s hips, so Newt insinuated his own hand between them and gasped in relief the second his fingers close around himself. It was sweltering and slick between them, and Newt braced himself up to get some space for his hand, and he moaned at the shift in the angle before working himself at as punishing a pace as he could manage. He bit his lip as the impending wave tightened inside him, stealing his breath and he clenched, dragging a shared moan from Hermann, who was flushed and dazed, his movements growing desperate.

“Oh shit,” Newt breathed at the sight. “Oh fuck, babe, I’m gonna come. I fucking love you, I’m…” Words left him. Hermann gave a shout and buried himself deep at just the point when Newt's orgasm tingled up his spine and into his whole body and his brain went blank except for the electric feeling of pleasure washing through him. His hand left his cock after the last aftershocks shuddered through his body and he collapsed forward against Hermann’s chest, every muscle worn out.

Hermann panted against him, and it was a good thing he at least could move to carefully pull himself out, because Newt sure couldn’t. It was an even better thing when his arms wrapped around Newt, pulling him close and resting his chin on Newt’s shoulder. “That was…” Hermann murmured in his ear, and seemed to struggle to form words. _Score._ “That was lovely. Did you enjoy yourself, dear?”

“Mmm-no, hated every second,” Newt giggled. “Can’t feel toes and or do words good. Nice job. Also can’t move. Can you move? Because I can’t, and I don’t want to.”

“We have to at some point,” Hermann reminded him and Newt shook his head lazily.

“Nope, no PT today, don’t have to move, and you can’t make me,” Newt murmured, and pressed his lips to Hermann’s shoulder. The man gave a long-suffering sigh but made little effort to move until their sweat had cooled. All the while he stroked his fingertips in lazy circles up and down Newt’s back.

Newt whined halfheartedly when Hermann finally shifted beneath him, but still made sure to inch off his leg and flop over onto his back to free him when the shifting grew more insistent. He wasn’t tired, he wasn’t, it was just chemicals, but he _might_ have dozed for a second until he felt a warm cloth wiping over his skin and gentle fingers checking him.

“I don’t know about you, but _I_ need to shower,” Hermann murmured. “That was lovely, darling, thank you.” He leaned in to kiss Newt’s cheek, and he gave a happy mumble at the touch. “Relax, I know that was difficult for you.”

Newt’s eyes popped open, just as the bathroom door closed. “ _Difficult?_ Hermann Gottlieb, don’t you dare coddle me, you ass, I will fucking fight you! It’s post-coital glow, dude, I can handle _sex!_ ”

There was no answer, except the shower turned on.

With a huff, Newt forced himself to his feet, and wouldn’t admit to the wave of weakness that almost had him collapsing back on the bed again. Difficult for him? Yeah  _right_. He'd show Hermann. Hopefully at great and enthusiastic length (heh) once he got some energy back but _that_ was going to require breakfast so damnit, Newt was going to make them breakfast.

He needed to sit again (and _almost_ couldn’t get up after) to tug on his boxers and the faded _AC/DC_ shirt he’d worn to bed, but after that he’d be damned if he let Hermann catch him doing any less than walking around under his own power today. He might have needed to clutch the kitchen counter once he tottered over to it, but that was a temporary lapse before he was washing his hands and flicking on the electric kettle for Hermann’s morning tea. Toast, eggs, he could do this. Hell, without PT he had time to make a whole English breakfast, just in case Hermann was feeling homesick. No Henrik today, just floor stretch homework at some point. Lang wasn’t until Monday, now that they’d gotten through him telling everything that _happened_ and they could start focusing on how to _deal_ with it.

For once, he had no schedule, and the thought was seeping in and leaving a warm glow of contentment behind it. Newt began to hum absently to himself, which turned into whispered singing that had an appropriate Death Metal edge to it given his voice and the nostalgic echoes of some dubiously skilled indie bands he’d obsessed over at MIT. Unfortunately, the apartment didn’t have the ingredients for an English breakfast, so he stuck to omelets, humming and occasionally screeching his way through the choruses of a few more songs as he worked. Fuck, he had missed cooking for himself. The Precursors had been all about takeout and nutrition shakes, it was amazing he hadn’t died of malnutrition. Why let their puppet waste time preparing food when there were other monkeys around to do it for him?

Newt had just finished the omelets when he heard the shower turn off.

“Breakfast is ready,” Newt hollered towards the bathroom. His mood was all clear now, working with his hands always did that for him, and his legs had held out the whole time so it _was_ post-coital glow that was weakening him before, and who could be mad about that? He started rambling conversationally as he gathered the silverware, just to keep Hermann company while he was getting ready, of course. He had an idea he wanted to run by the guy, and making breakfast after awesome sex had brought it to mind.

“So I’ve been thinking, Herms, we both agree we’re a little bit married, right? But we’ve been a little bit married for like two _decades_ now. We’ve gotten through the whole screaming argument thing, the distance, the estrangement. _Basically_ , we’ve been divorcees since we met. I was thinking about that when suddenly it hit me: we’re living our relationship in reverse! And you know what means? There’s nowhere to go but up from here! So according to my estimates, we’re at the honeymoon now, where we’re all cute and lovey-dovey and gross to everyone around us, but we don’t care because the sex is awesome. We can worry about the next part with wedding bells and place settings and all that bullshit later. But honeymoon first, and I know just the place. There’s this resort in Cabo, I did a bunch of research there when Kaiceph landed and I’m _pretty_ sure they’ve cleaned up all the Kaiju Blue and radiation by now. And if not, hey, bargain prices, right? You and I _need_ a vacation. We _deserve_ a vacation, and by god, I think it’s about time we gave the PPDC the two finger salute and had one, whaddya say?”

Maybe he could even convince Hermann to run away with him as early as next week, and they could skip the whole Shao dinner thing. Not on _purpose_ of course, just as a bonus. Not that they needed to rush it, they had all the time in the world. Hell, they could spend _months_ in Cabo. They could go _anywhere_.

For the first time in ten years, twelve if he counted the coma, over twenty since he’d gotten on the front lines of the Kaiju War and a near goddamn quarter-century since Trespasser made landfall, Newt had nothing to do. He could take his time making breakfast for his boyfriend, and after that, he could drag Hermann back to bed, where he’d no doubt make a big show of grumbling before giving one of those secret smiles that meant he didn’t really mind and he was actually rather _charmed_. They were free for the day, after all, and…

And then the other shoe dropped.

_Oh._

_Oh shit, this is for real. I’m free._

It was a good thing he hadn’t started pouring the coffee yet, because Newt’s hands began to shake so hard he had to grip the countertop to keep from collapsing in a heap that had nothing to do with lingering muscle atrophy. Collapsing, in general, didn’t seem like _such_ a bad idea though, because he suddenly couldn’t breathe, or see, because his vision kept blurring as his eyes watered over and yeah, sitting down was an _awesome_ idea.

Newt gripped the countertop and tried to slide down in some kind of controlled fall until he was splayed out on the ground, chest heaving as he sucked down gasping breaths. The wooden floor was solid beneath his palms, the grain scraped his fingertips as he clenched his hands compulsively just to feel it was there. The air smelled like coffee, strong just the way he liked it, because he’d made it himself. In his own home, that he shared with Hermann, who would be done getting ready any second now, and Newt needed to pull himself together before that but it was just so… _much_.

He was out. There were no voices in his head telling him what to do. There was no countdown clock. No constant reminder that every second wasted in the lab meant more people died, because it was _over_. He wasn’t going to wake up to another blaring siren signaling a Kaiju attack. There were no puppeteers to jerk him out of his sleep and put him back to work destroying his own world and everyone he loved. There was no pulsing tank in the corner. There was no planet out there filled with fascist aliens waiting to get him _and your little world too_. He wasn’t stuck in the void, screaming into the darkness with no one there to hear him. He wasn’t trapped in his own memories, wandering a maze of torture as he relived it all.

And he wasn’t alone at the end, begging for _anyone_ to believe him that it was never his choice in the first place. He wasn’t alone at all, which was kind of a miracle because hey, he wasn’t actually the easiest person in the world to deal with, and he knew it. Someone had stuck around. Someone had gone looking for him, and found him, and they were both _out_.

And that someone was next to him now, hair still dripping from the shower, wearing a _ridiculous_ stripey bathrobe and kneeling gingerly to take Newt’s face in his hands.

“Newton, are you alright?” Hermann said, alarm and concern mingled on his face as he studied Newt.

Newt sniffled, and nodded, and held out his arms to invite Hermann close without dragging him off balance. Hermann seemed to recognize the gesture and leaned in closer, shifting to sit beside Newt, who dragged him into a bear hug once it was safe, and buried his face against his shoulder.

“Shoe,” he muttered.

“Ah,” Hermann said quietly, and allowed himself to be held.

“It’s over, isn’t it?”

Hermann exhaled, and twined his arms around Newt’s shoulders. “Yes, darling, it is.”

“We kicked their asses, huh?” Newt peered up at Hermann’s face and grinned so hard the tears gathering in his eyes trickled down his cheeks.

Hermann chuckled under his breath, then smiled in return, which was point number 563 for Newt. “Yes, we did.”

“And you still like me.”

Hermann’s expression softened, and he pressed their foreheads together. “I do a great deal more than _like_ you, darling.”

“You didn’t have to, though,” Newt said. It hadn’t stopped crashing down on him yet, everything that happened, everything that _meant_. “You saved my life.”

Hermann went quiet and still, then whispered, “You saved mine as well.”

Newt wanted to protest that. Wanted to point out that tagging along with him had almost gotten Hermann killed on more than one occasion. That he'd need two hands to count all the times they probably should have died and it was mostly his fault. But there was a solemnity in Hermann’s dark eyes, the kind of focus that even at his worst, Newt never had the heart to break. Instead, he said, “So whaddya say, Cabo? I know this great spot on the beach. It's got this hammock and we...uh, we could watch the sunset...?”

He wondered if Hermann could hear the other question he was asking too, about the next step for them after the honeymoon, and how they always did everything backwards.

“Of course I’ll go with you, Newt,” Hermann said, and pressed a kiss to Newt’s forehead. “I’ll always go with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this far, I do so hope you enjoyed! Please consider leaving a comment, if you have a moment!

**Author's Note:**

> **Thank you so much for reading! I poured my heart and soul into this story, and your feedback is immensely valuable and the light of my life. Please consider leaving a comment, no matter how small!**
> 
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